!l 


THE    FIDDLER  S    HOUSE:     THE 
LAND:      THOMAS     MUSKERRY 


THREE    PLAYS 

THE  FIDDLER'S   HOUSE 

THE   LAND 

THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

BY 

PADRAIC  COLUM 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,   BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1916 


Copyright,  1916, 
By  Padraic  Colum. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published,  October,  1916 


For  permission  to  perform  these  plays,  apply  to 
The  Paget  Dramatic  Agency,  25  West  4.5th  Street,  New  York  City 


SET  UP  AND  ELECTROTYPED  BY  THE  PLIMPTON  PRESS,   NORWOOD,   MASS.,  U.S.A. 
PRINTED  BY  S.   J.   PARKHILL   St.  CO.,  BOSTON,  MASS.,   U.S.A. 


TO   MY   FRIEND 
THOMAS   HUGHES   KELLY 

THESE  THREE  IRISH  PLAYS 


■L 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

I   HAVE  been  asked  to  say  something  about  the  in- 
tentions and   ideas   that   underlie   the   three    short 
plays  in  this  volume. 

These  plays  were  conceived  in  the  early  days  of  the 
Irish  National  Theatre.  I  had  been  one  of  the  group  that 
formed  the  National  Theatre  Society  and  I  wrote  plays 
for  players  who  were  my  colleagues  and  my  instruct- 
ors ;  I  wrote  them  for  a  small,  barely-furnished  stage  in 
a  small  theatre  ;  I  wrote  them,  too,  for  an  audience  that 
was  tremendously  interested  in  every  expression  of 
national  character.  '  The  Land  "  was  written  to  celebrate 
the  redemption  of  the  soil  of  Ireland  —  an  event  made 
possible  by  the  Land  Act  of  1903.  This  event,  as  it 
represented  the  passing  of  Irish  acres  from  an  alien  land- 
lordism, was  considered  to  be  of  national  importance. 
"The  Land"  also  dealt  with  a  movement  that  ran  coun- 
ter to  the  rooting  of  the  Celtic  people  in  the  soil  —  emi- 
gration—  the  emigration  to  America  of  the  young  and 
the  fit.  In  "The  Land"  I  tried  to  show  that  it  was 
not  altogether  an  economic  necessity  that  was  driving 
young  men  and  women  out  of  the  Irish  rural  districts; 
the  lack  of  life  and  the  lack  of  freedom  there  had  much 
to  do  w ith  emigration. 

'"The  band"  touched  upon  a  typical  conflict,  the  con- 
flict between  the  individual  and  that  which,  in  Ireland, 
has  much  authority,  the  family  group.  This  particular 
conflict    was   shown    again    in    "The    Fiddler's  House," 


vlii  AUTHOR'S   NOTE 

where  the  life,  not  of  the  actual  peasants,  but  of  rural 
people  with  artistic  and  aristocratic  traditions,  was 
shown. 

I  tried  to  show  the  same  conflict  working  out  more 
tragically  in  the  play  of  middle-class  life,  "Thomas  Mus- 
kerry."  Here  I  went  above  the  peasant  and  the  wan- 
dering artist  and  came  to  the  official.  I  had  intended 
to  make  plays  about  the  merchant,  the  landowner,  the 
political  and  the  intellectual  leader  and  so  write  a  chap- 
ter in  an  Irish  Human  Comedy.  But  while  I  was  think- 
ing of  the  play  that  is  third  in  this  volume  my  connection 
with  the  National  Theatre  Society  was  broken  off. 
"Thomas  Muskerry"  was  produced  in  the  Abbey 
Theatre  after  I  had  ceased  to  be  a  member  of  the  group 
that  had  founded  it. 

Padraic  Colum 

New  York 

August,  1916 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Author's  Note vn 

The  Fiddler's  House 1 

THE   Land:     A\   AGRARIAN  COMEDY  IN  TuREE  ACTS      79 

Thomas  Muskerry 139 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


CHARACTERS 

Conn  Hourican,  a  Fiddler. 
Maike  (Mary)1  Hourican,  his  daughter. 
Anne  Hourican,  a  younger  daughter. 
Brian    MacConnell,  ;i  younge*  farmer. 
JAMES   MoYNIBAN,  a  farmer's  son. 

The  action  passes  in  the  Houricans'  house  in  the 
Irish  Midlands. 

1  The  name  is  pronounced  as  if  written  "Maurya." 


ACT  I 

Scene:  The  interior  of  a  farmer's  cottage;  the  kitchen. 
The  entrance  is  at  the  back  rigid.  To  the  left  is  the  fire- 
place, on  open  hearth,  with  a  fire  of  -peat.  There  is  a 
room  door  to  the  right,  a  pace  below  the  entrance;  and 
another  room  door  below  the  fire-place,  Between  the  room 
door  and  the  entrance  there  is  a  row  of  wooden  pegs,  on 
which  men's  coats  hang.  Below  this  door  is  a  dn 
containing  pretty  delph.  There  is  a  small  window  at 
back,  a  settle  bed  folded  into  a  high  bench;  a  small  mirror 
hangs  right  of  the  window.  A  bached  chair  and  some 
stools  ore  about  the  hearth.  A  table  to  the  right  with  cloth 
and  tea  things  on  it.  The  cottage  looks  pretty  and  com- 
fortable.    It  is  towards  the  close  of  an  Autumn  day. 

James  Moynihan  has  finished  tea;  Anne  Honrican 
is  <d  the  hack,  sealed  on  the  settle  knitting,  and  watching 
James.  James  Moynihan  is  about  twenty-eight,  lie  has 
a  good  forehead,  but  his  face  is  indeterminate.  He  has 
been  working  in  the  fields,  and  is  dressed  in  trousers, 
shirt,  and  heavy  boots.  Anne  Hourican  is  a  pretty,  dark- 
haired  girl  of  about  nineteen. 

James  Moynihan  rises. 
ANN  i ; 

And  so  you  can'1  stay  any  longer,  James? 
James  {with  a  certain  solemnity) 

No,  Anne.    I  told  my  father  I'd  be  back  while  Mien' 

Was   light,  and    I'm   going  back.       (He  goes  to  the  rack, 
takes  his  coat,  and  puts  it  on  him)     Come  over  to  our 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


house  to-night,  Anne.  I'll  be  watching  the  girls 
coming  in,  and  thinking  on  yourself;  there's  none  of 
them  your  match  for  grace  and  favour.  My  father 
wanted  me  to  see  a  girl  in  Arvach.  She  has  three 
hundred  pounds,  besides  what  the  priest,  her  uncle, 
will  leave  her.  "Father,"  says  I,  "listen  to  me  now. 
Haven't  I  always  worked  for  you  like  a  steady,  useful 
boy?"  "You  have,"  says  he.  "Did  I  ever  ask  you 
for  anything  unreasonable?"  says  I.  "No,"  says 
he.  "Well  then,"  says  I,  "don't  ask  me  to  do  un- 
reasonable things.  I'm  fond  of  Anne  Hourican,  and 
not  another  girl  will  I  marry.  What's  money,  after 
all?"  says  I,  "there's  gold  on  the  whin-bushes  if  you 
only  knew  it."    And  he  had  to  leave  it  at  that. 

ANNE 

You  always  bring  people  around. 

JAMES 

The  quiet,  reasonable  way  is  the  way  that  people 
like. 

ANNE 

Still,  with  all,  I'm  shy  of  going  into  your  house. 

JAMES 

Don't  doubt  but  there'll  be  a  welcome  before  you; 
come  round  with  Maire. 

\_Anne   rises,    and   comes   to   him.     She   has   graceful, 
bird-like  movements. 
anne  (putting  her  hands  on  James'  shoulders) 

Maybe  we  won't  have  a  chance  of  seeing  each  other 

after  all. 

[James  Moynihan  kisses  her  reverently. 

JAMES 

Sit  down  now,  Anne,  because  there's  something  I  want 
to  show  you.     Do  you  ever  see  "The  Shamrock"? 


TTTI-:  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


a  \  \  i : 
Very  seldom. 

[James  and  Anne  go  to  the  settle;  they  sit  down. 
.1  \mi;s 

There  be   good   pieces   in    il    sometimes.     There's  a 

poem  of  mine  in  il  this  week. 
ANN]  '- 

Of  yours,  Jaine>?     Printed,  do  you  mean? 
JAMES 

Ay,  printed,  ille  takes  a  paper  out  of  his  poelcet, 
and  opens  it)  It'.-  ;>  poem  to  yourself,  though  your 
name  doesn't  come  into  it.  {Gives  paper)  Let  no 
one  see  it,  Anne,  at  least  not  for  the  present.  And 
now,  good-bye. 

[Goes  to  the  door.     Anne  continues  reading  the  verse 
terly.    At  the  door  James  turns  ami  recites:  — 
When  light-  are  failing,  and  skies  are  paling, 

And  leaves  are  sailing  a-down  the  air, 
O,  it's  then  that  1  >ve  lifts  my  heart  above 
My  roving  thoughts  and  my  petty  care; 
And  though  the  gloom  be  like  the  tomb, 

Where  there's  do  room  for  my  love  and  me, 
O,  still  I'll  find  yon.  and  still  I'll  bind  you, 
My  wild  sweel  rose  of  Aughnalee! 
That's  the  first  stanza.    Good-bye. 
[James  go  ■■  out.     Anne  continues   reading,  then  she 
leaves  the  paper  down  with  a  sigh. 

ANNE 

O,  it's  lovely!     {She  tolas  the  paper  up  again,  ri 
and  goes  I"  the  door.     She  remains  looking  out.     Some 
cm-  speaks  to  her)     No,  Brian,  Maire's  not  back  3 
Ay,  I'll  engage  she'll  give  y<>n  ;i  call  when  she  <] 
come  ba>k.      Anne  turns  back.    She  opens  drawer  in 


8  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

the  dresser  and  puts  paper  in.  She  begins  to  clear 
table,  putting  the  delph  back  on  dresser.  To  herself, 
anxiously)  I  hope  Maire  won't  forget  to  call  at  the 
mill.  (Room  door  right  opens,  and  Conn  Hourican 
comes  down.  Conn  Hourican  is  a  man  of  about  fifty, 
with  clear-cut,  powerf id  features,  his  face  is  clean-shaven, 
his  expression  vehement.  His  dress  is  old-fashioned. 
He  wears  knee-breeches,  a  frieze  coat  rather  long,  a 
linen  shirt  with  a  little  linen  collar  and  a  black  string 
for  bow.    He  carries  a  stick  and  moves  about  restlessly) 

ANNE 

Had  Maire  any  talk  of  going  to  the  mill,  father? 

CONN 

I  heard  nothing  of  it. 

ANNE 

I  hope  she'll  mind  of  it.  We  must  get  the  meal  there, 
and  not  be  going  to  the  shop  so  often. 

CONN 

I  suppose  we  must. 

[He  moves  about  restlessly. 

ANNE 

And  I  was  just  thinking  that  one  of  us  ought  to  go 
to  Arvach  on  Tuesday,  and  get  the  things  there. 

CONN 

The  mean,  odious  creatures! 

\_Anne  is  startled.    She  turns  from  dresser. 

ANNE 

What  are  you  thinking  of,  father? 

CONN 

That  den  of  robbers.  Well,  well,  I'm  finished  with 
them  now;  but  I'm  a  proud  man,  and  a  passionate 
man,  and  I'll  be  even  with  them  yet. 


THE  FIDDLER'S   HOUSE  0 

There's  no  comfort  in  going  into  rough  places. 
conn 

You  know  nothing  "at  all  about  it.  Were  I  In-  men  in 
yet? 

ANNE 

James  Moynihan  was  here,  because  ne  had  to  go 
away  early;  but  Brian  MacConneU  is  outside  still. 
Father,  you  were  home  late  two  nights  this  week. 

CONN 

Anil  is  a  man  to  have  no  life  to  himself?  But  sure 
you  know  nothing  at  all  about  it.  I'm  going  out 
now  to  give  Brian  MacConneU  a  hand. 

AWK 

It's  hardly  worth  while  going  out  now. 

conn 

There's  -till  light  enough  to  do  a  hit  of  mowing,  and 
you  ought  to  know  that  it  isn't  right  to  neglect  the 
boy  that's  come  to  do  a  day's  work  with  you.  (Going 
Id  the  door)  Many's  the  day  1  put  in  with  the  scythe 
in  Ireland,  and  in  England  too;  I  did  more  than 
stroll  with  the  fiddle,  and  I  saw  more  places  than 
where  fiddling  brought  me.  (Brian  MacConneU  comes 
to  the  door)  I  was  just  going  out  to  you,  Brian.  I 
was  telling  the  girl  here  that  it's  not  right  to  neglect 
the  hoy  that's  giving  you  a  day's  work  out  of  his 
own  goodness. 

BR]  w 

I'm  only  coming  in  for  a  light. 

<  ONN 

A-  you're  here  now,  rest  yourself. 

[Brian    MacConneU   conns    in,  and   (joes   over   to   the 

hearth.     He  is  dark  and  good-looking,  anil  has  some- 


10  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

tiling  reckless  in  his  look.    He  wears  corduroy  trousers, 
and  a  shirt  loose  at  the  neck.     Anne  comes  to  Brian. 
Conn  sta7ids  at  entrance,  his  back  turned. 
bkian  {lighting  his  pipe  with  a  coal) 
When  do  you  expect  Maire  back? 

ANNE 

She'll  be  here  soon.  She'll  give  you  a  call  if  you're 
outside. 

BRIAN 

How  is  it  you  couldn't  keep  James  Moynihan? 

ANNE 

It's  because  you  didn't  say  the  good  word  for  me,  I 
must  think.  Be  sure  you  praise  me  the  next  time 
you're  working  together. 

BRIAN 

Will  you  do  as  much  for  me? 

ANNE 

Indeed,  I  will,  Brian.  Myself  and  another  are  mak- 
ing a  devotion  to  Saint  Anthony. 

BRIAN 

And  what  would  that  be  for? 

ANNE 

That  the  Saint  might  send  us  good  comrades. 

BRIAN 

I  thought  it  was  Saint  Joseph  did  that  for  the  girls. 

ANNE 

Sure  we  couldn't  be  asking  the  like  from  him.     We 
couldn't  talk  to  Saint  Joseph  that  way.     We  want  a 
nice  young  saint  to  be  looking  at. 
^Conn  turns  from  the  door. 

conn  (bitterly) 

It'll  be  a  poor  season,  Brian  MacConnell. 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  11 


BR]  w 

The  season's  not  so  bad,  after  all. 

(('NN 

God  help  them  that  arc  depending  on  the  [and  and 

the  weather  for  the  bit   they  put   into  their   heads. 

It's  no  wonder  that  the  people  here  are  the  sort  they 

are,  harassed,  anxious  people. 
aw  i : 

The  people  here  mind  their  own  business,  and  they're 

a  friendly  people  besides. 
CONN 

People  that  would  leave  the  best  fiddler  at  the  fair 

to  go  and  look  at  a  bullock. 
annb   I"  Brian) 

He's  not  satisfied  to  have  this  shelter,  Brian. 
conn  {to  Brian) 

I'm  saying,  Brian,  that  her  mother  had  this  shelter, 

and  she  left  it  to  go  the  roads  with  myself. 

ANNC 

That  God  may  rest  my  mother.  It's  a  pity  she  never 
lived  bo  come  back  to  the  place.  But  we  ought  to 
be  praising  grandmother  night  and  day,  for  leaving 
this  place  to  .Ma ire. 

CONN 

Your   grandmother   did    that   as   she   did   everything 
else. 
awi:  {to  Brian) 

Now,   Brian,  what  would  you  do  with  a  man   that 
would  say  the  like? 
fAnne  goi  a  outside. 

CONN  (to  Brian ) 

It's  small  blame  to  the  girl  here  for  thinking  some- 
thing of  the  place;    but   1   saw  the  lime,  Brian  Mac- 


12  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

Connell,  when  I  could  make  more  playing  at  one 
fair  than  working  a  whole  season  in  this  bit  of  a 
place. 

BRIAN 

Girls  like  the  shelter,  Conn. 

CONN 

Ay,  but  the  road  for  the  fiddler.  I'm  five  years 
settled  here,  and  I  come  to  be  as  well  known  as  the 
begging  ass,  and  there  is  as  much  thought  about  me. 
Fiddling,  let  me  tell  you,  isn't  like  a  boy's  whistling. 
It  can't  be  kept  up  on  nothing. 

BRIAN 

I  understand  that,  Conn. 

CONN 

I'm  getting  that  I  can't  stand  the  talk  you  hear  in 
houses,  wars  and  Parliaments,  and  the  devil  knows 
what  ramais. 

BRIAN 

There's  still  a  welcome  for  the  man  of  art,  somewhere. 

CONN 

That  somewhere's  getting  further  and  further  away, 
Brian. 

BRIAN 

You  were  not  m  the  town  last  night? 

CONN 

I  was  not,  Brian.  God  help  me,  I  spent  the  night 
my  lone. 

BRIAN 

There's  Sligomen  in  the  town. 

CONN 

Is  there,  now?  It  would  be  like  oul'  times  to  play 
for  them.  (Anne  comes  in  with  some  peat)  Anne, 
would  you  bring  me  down  my  spectacles?     They're 


THE   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  13 

in  the  room,  daughter.  {Anne  goes  to  room.  Conn 
turns  to  Brian  eagerly)  I  Buppose  the  Sligomen  will 
be  in  Flynn's. 

BRIAN 

They  were  there  last  night. 
conn 

Listen,  Brian.  I've  a  reason  for  not  going  to  Flynn's. 
Would  you  believe  it.  Brian,  Flynn  spoke  to  me 
about  the  few  shillings  I  owe  him? 

BR]  W 

That  was  shabby  of  him.  lie  got  a  lot  out  of  you 
in  the  way  of  playing. 

I      \  N 

It's  just  like  them.  Besides,  Mnirc  keeps  us  tight 
enough,  and  I  often  have  to  take  treats  from  the 
men.  They're  drovers  and  rambling  labourers  and 
the  like,  though,  as  you  say,  they've  the  song  and 
music,  and  the  proper  talk.  Listen,  Brian,  could 
you  leave  a  few  shillings  on  the  dresser  for  me? 

BRIAN 
To  be  sure  I  will.  Conn. 
[Brian  goes  to  the  dresser,  and  p?//.<?  money  on  a  shelf. 

conn  (with  dignity) 

Thank  you,  Brian.  There's  few  I'd  let  put  me  under 
a  compliment;  but  I  take  it  from  you.  Main-,  as  I 
said,  is  a  careful  girl,  hut  some  of  us  must  have  our 
freedom.  Besides,  Brian,  the  bird  that  sings  lone 
sings  -low.  The  man  of  art  must  have  his  listeners. 
I  "////  takes  the  money  qff  dresser)  Anne,  daughter, 
what's  keeping  you  there?  Sure  the  spectacles  were 
in  my  pockel  the  whole  time,  child.  {Anne  <-<>mrs 
down)  When  I  spoke  againsl  the  people  about  here, 
I  was  leaving  you  out  of  it,  Brian. 


14  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

BRIAN 

I'm  fond  of  tune,  though  it  wasn't  here  I  got  fond  of 
it. 

[Brian  goes  to  the  door. 
anne  {going  to  Brian) 

You  won't  be  rambling  again,  Brian? 

BRIAN 

I'm  settled  here,  Anne;  I  made  it  up  with  my  brothers. 

ANNE 

They  used  to  say  that  a  MacConnell  quarrel  was  a 
lasting  quarrel. 

BRIAN 

Maybe  we're  working  the  bad  blood  out  of  us. 

ANNE 

Don't  be  staying  out  long,  Brian. 

BRIAN 

Till  Maire  gives  me  the  call. 
[Brian  MacConnell  goes  out. 

ANNE 

We  oughtn't  to  take  another  day  from  Brian  Mac- 
Connell. There's  only  the  patch  at  the  back  to  be 
mown,  and  you  could  do  that  yourself. 

CONN 

You  can  depend  on  me  for  the  mowing.  I'm  going 
up  now,  to  go  over  an  oul'  tune  I  have. 

ANNE 

James  Moynihan  would  come  over  and  stack  for  us. 

CONN 

James  Moynihan  is  a  decent  boy,  too. 

ANNE 

You  won't  be  going  out  to-night,  father? 

CONN 

Now,  how's  a  man  to  know  what  he'll  be  doing? 


THE   FIDDLER'S   BOUSE  15 

ANNE 

It  leaves  me  very  anxious. 

CONN 

I'll  give  you  this  advice,  and  it's  proper  advice  to 

give  to  a  girl  thinking  of  marrying.     Never  ask  of 

your  menkind  where  they're  going. 
ANNE 

The  like  of  that  brings  bad  luck  on  a  house. 
con  \ 

You  have  too  much  dead  knowledge,  and  the  shut 

I'M  never  caught  a  bird. 

ANNE 

I  only  wish  you  were  settled  down. 

CONN 

Suit  I  am  set  lied  down. 
anm; 

I  can't  speak  to  you,  after  all. 

CONN 

You're  a  good  girl,  Anne,  and  he'll  be  lucky  that  gets 
you.  And  don't  be  grieving  that  you're  not  bringing 
James    Moynihan   a    fortune.      You're   bringing   him 

the   d<  of   birth    and    rearing.      You're    like   the 

lone    pigeon    I    often    think  —  the   pet    that   doesn't 
By,  and  keeps  near  the  house. 
anm: 

Thai's  the  way  you  always  treat  me,  and  I  never 
can  talk  to  you. 

OONN  (at  window) 
Hush  now,  here's  the  other,  your  sisicr  Maire.    She's 
like  the  wild  pigeon  of  the  woods.     (Main-  Hourican 
names   in)     We   were   discoursing  on   affairs,    Maire. 
We   won't    be   bringing   Brian    MacConneU    here   to- 


16  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

morrow;  there's  only  the  bit  at  the  back  to  be  mown, 
and  I'll  do  that  myself. 

\_Conn  Hourican  goes  into  the  room  right;  soon  after 
the  fiddle  is  heard.  Anne  goes  to  the  settle,  and  takes 
up  her  knitting.  Maire  takes  her  shawl  off,  and  hangs 
it  on  the  rack.  Maire  Hourican  is  over  twenty.  She 
is  tall,  and  has  easy,  graceful  movements;  her  features 
are  fine  and  clear-cut;  the  nose  is  rather  blunted,  the 
mouth  firm.  Her  gaze  is  direct  and  clear.  She  has 
heavy  auburn  hair,  loose  now,  and  falling.  Maire 
comes  down  to  the  table,  opens  basket,  and  takes  some 
flowers  from  top.  She  turns  to  dresser  and  arranges 
some  of  the  flowers  in  a  jar. 

MAIRE 

We'd  have  no  right  to  take  another  day  from  Brian. 
And  when  there's  no  one  here  to-morrow,  you  and 
me  could  draw  some  of  the  turf. 

ANNE 

Your  hair  is  loose,  Maire. 

\_Maire  goes  to  the  mirror  and  fixes  her  hair. 

MAIRE 

The  wind  blew  it  about  me,  and  then  I  let  it  down.  I 
came  home  by  the  long  way,  just  to  feel  young  again 
with  my  hair  about  me. 

ANNE 

And  did  you  meet  any  one? 

MAIRE 

Indeed  I  did.     I  met  James  Moynihan. 

ANNE 

James  had  to  go  early.    They're  building  at  his  place. 

MAIRE 

Indeed  they  ought  to  let  James  build  a  house  for 
himself. 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  17 

ANN!. 

me  day  they  will,  Maire. 

maiki: 

Hut  wo  must  n<>t  lot  some  day  he  a  far  day. 
anne  I  hesitatingly) 

I  think  I'll  show  you  something. 
IfAIRB 

What  is  it,  daughter? 

\Anne  rises  and  goes  to  the  dresser.     She  opens  drawer. 

Maire  watches  her. 
m  \ire  (waiting) 

I  made  a  good  girl  out  of  you,  anyway. 
ANN! : 

You  wouldn't  let  me  use  stroller  words  when  we  were 

on  the  road.    Do  you  mind  of  that? 

MAIKI. 

I  kept  you  to  the  mannerly  ways.     I  have  that  to 
my  credit. 
ANNE  (showing  Maire  the  verses) 

l>    id  that,  Maire.     It  was  James  that  made  it. 

MAIRE 

It's  a  song,  I  declare. 

ANNE 

No,  Maire,  it's  a  poem. 
maiki: 
A  poem?    O,  that's  grand! 
[She  begins  to  read  it  eagerly. 

\  \  \  E 

And,  Maire  — 

maiki; 
Well? 

ANM. 

James  says  it'-  aboul  me. 


18  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

About  you?  O,  I  wish  some  one  would  put  me  into  a 
song,  or  into  a  poem;  I  suppose  a  poem  would  be 
best.  You  might  ask  James.  No,  I'll  coax  him  my- 
self.    Ah,  no  I  won't,  Anne. 

ANNE 

You  may  keep  it  for  a  while,  but  don't  let  any  one 
know. 

MAIRE 

He  must  be  very  fond  of  you,  and  I  thinking  him  so 
quiet. 
Anne  (happy) 

He  has  grand  thoughts  about  me. 

MAIRE 

Well,  you'll  be  seeing  him  to-night. 

ANNE 

I  don't  know  that  I'll  go  out  to-night. 

MAIRE 

Sure  Grace  Moynihan  asked  us  to  go  over. 

ANNE 

I'm  shy  of  going  into  James'. 

MAIRE 

Anne,  you're  the  only  one  of  us  that  has  any  man- 
ners.    Maybe  you're  right  not  to  go. 

ANNE 

I'll  stay  in  to-night. 

MAIRE 

Then  Brian  and  myself  will  go  to  Moynihan's. 

ANNE 

You'd  get  an  indulgence,  Maire,  if  you  missed  a 
dance. 

MAIRE 

Would  it  be  so  hard  to  get  an  indulgence?    (She  takes 


THE   FIDDLER'S  SOUSE  1!) 

flowers  from    dresser   ami   puis   lliem    in    leindmr)      The 

house  look'-  nice  this  evening.    We'll  keep  Brian  here 
for  a  while,  and  then  we'll  go  to  Moyninan's. 

a  n  \  E 

Father  will  he  going  out  to-night. 

maiki:  (turning  suddenly  from  window) 

Will  he? 
ANNE 

He  will.    I  think  I  ought  to  stay  in.    Maire,  father  was 

in  only  a  while  before  you  the  night  before  last  and 
another  night. 

MA1HE 

0,  and  I  thinking  things  were  going  so  well  with  us. 
He's  drinking  again. 

ANNE 

He's  going  to  Fly  mi's  again. 

MAIRE 

Disgracing  us  again. 
ANNE 

I'll  stay  in  to-night. 

maiki; 

I'm  tired  of  this. 
ANNE 

Don't  Bay  it  that  way,  Maire. 
M  \n;i; 

What  will  people  say  of  us  two  now? 

ANNE 

I'll  talk  to  him  to-night. 
MAIRE 

No,  you're  going  out  —  you're  going  to  Moynihan's 

—  you're  going  to  see  your  sweetheart. 

ANNE 

I  think  you're  becoming  a  stranger  to  us,  Maire. 


20  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

You're  going  to  Moynihan's  to-night,  and  I'm  going, 

too.     But  I'm  going  to  settle  this  first.     Once  and 

for  all  I'm  going  to  settle  this. 

{The  fiddle  has  ceased.     As   Maire  goes   towards  the 

room,   Conn  Hourican  comes  down,   the  fiddle  in  his 

hand. 

CONN 

Were  you  listening  to  the  tune  I  was  playing?  Ah, 
that  was  a  real  oul'  tune,  if  there  was  anyone  that 
knew  it.    Maire,  my  jewel,  were  you  listening? 

MAIRE 

I  heard  you. 

CONN 

It  was  a  real  oul'  tune,  and  while  I  was  playing  it  a 
great  scheme  came  into  my  head.  Now,  listen  to  me, 
Maire;  and  you  listen,  too,  Anne.  Both. of  you  would 
like  to  see  your  father  having  what's  his  due  after  all, 
honour  and  respect. 

MAIRE 

Both  of  us  would  like  to  see  our  father  earn  the  same. 

CONN 

I  could  earn  the  same,  ay,  and  gold  and  silver  cups 
besides,  if  I  had  the  mind  to  earn  them. 
{He  puts  fiddle  on  table  and  prepares  to  speak  impres- 
sively. 

CONN 

Let  ye  listen  to  me  now;  I've  a  scheme  to  put  before 
ye.  When  I  was  going  over  the  oul'  tune,  I  remem- 
bered that  I'd  heard  of  a  Feis1  that's  coming  on  soon, 

1  Feis,  pronounced  Fesh,  a  musical    or    literary   gathering,  with 
competitions. 


THE  FIDDLERS  HOUSE  21 

the  Feis  of  Ardagh.  I'm  thinking  of  going  there. 
There  will  be  great   prizes  for   some  one;    I   don't 

(liuiht  hut  I'd  do  at  Ardagh  better  than  I  did  at  the 
lVis  of  Granard,   where  people  aa  high  as  bishops 

were   proud   and   glad   to   know   Conn  Ilourican    the 
Fiddler. 
a  N  n  K 

Father,  you've  a  place  to  mind. 

CONN 

I'm  tired  of  that  kind  of  talk;  sure  I'm  always  think- 
ing of  the  place.  Maire  hasn't  little  notions.  What 
do  you  say  to  it,  Maire,  my  girl? 

MAIRE 

What   do  I  say?     I  say  you're  not  a  rambler  now, 
though  indeed  you  behave  like  one. 
con  n 

You  have  something  against  me,  Maire. 

MAIRE 

I  have. 
« i  an* 

What  has  she  against  me,  Anne? 

MAIRE 

All  the  promises  you  broke. 
«  ONW 

You  wire  listening  to  what  the  town  is  saying. 

MAIRE 

What  docs  the  town  know?  Does  it  know  that  you 
stripped  us  of  Mock  and  crop  the  year  after  we  came 
here?  Does  it  know  that  Anne  and  myself,  two  girls 
of  the  roads,  had  to  struggle  ever  since  to  keep  a 


shelter 


'j 


conn  {bitterly) 
It  knows  that. 


22  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

It  couldn't  help  but  know  it,  maybe.     But  does  it 
know  all  the  promises  you  made  and  broke? 

conn  {angrily) 

Hush  now;    I'll  hear  no  more.     I  went  my  own  way 

always,  and  I'll  go  my  own  way  always. 

[He  goes  to  the  entrance,  and  remains  with  his  back 

turned.    Maire  goes  to  Anne. 
maire  (raising  her  voice) 

Ay,  he'll  go  his  own  way  always.    What  was  the  good 

of  working  and  saving  here? 

ANNE 

Be  quiet  with  him. 

MAIRE 

He'll  go  his  own  way  always,  and  it's  foolish  of  us 
to  be  fretting  for  him  night  and  day. 
[Maire  sits  on  stool  and  puts  her  hands  across  her  face. 
conn  (turning  his  head) 

Fretting  for  me.    It  was  too  easy  that  I  reared  you. 

ANNE 

God  help   Maire!     She  kept  the  house  together  at 
the  worst,  and  she  is  always  fretting  for  us. 

CONN 

I'm  ouF  enough  to  mind  myself.     Let  her  remember 
that. 

ANNE 

It's  you  that  ought  to  remember  that. 
conn  (going  to  Maire) 

Did  I  ever  give  the  harsh  word  to  you,  child? 

[No  answer. 

CONN 

There,  there;    I  never  could  see  tears  in  a  woman's 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

eyes;   there,  there,  colleen.    E'm,  an  ouT  man;   I  won'1 
be  a  trouble  t<>  you  loi 
ma  ike  (rising) 
Why  net  (I  you  play  in  Flynn's?    You're  as  good  as 
any  th;it  goes  there. 

I  ONN 

I  know   that.     I'm  disgusted  with  Flynn.    May  hell 
loosen   his  knees  for  him!     I'll  go  in  and  throw  his 
money  on  the  counter. 
maim; 

Some  one  else  can  do  that.     Promise  me  you  won't 
go  near  the  place. 

(    M\\ 

You'll  have  me  promise.    I  promise. 

MA11M, 

Take  this  in  your  hand  and  promise.     It's  a  medal 
that  belonged  to  mother. 
[She  fakes  a  medal  from  her  nee!:. 
((inn  (taking  the  medal) 

I'm  disgusted  with  Flynn.    I  promise  you,  Maire. 

MAIUE 

Now  you've  honour  and  respect. 
And  what  about   Ardagh,  Maire? 

MAI 

Sure,  you're  not  the  rambling  Giddier  any  more. 
<  ONM 
That   would  he  the  good  rambling.     I  sec  the  trees 
making  shadows  across  the  roa«K. 

MAIRE 

We'll  talk  aboul  it  again. 
asm; 
Brian  MacConnell  will  he  coming  in  now. 


24  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


CONN 

I'm  going  out  to  Brian  MacConnell. 

[He  goes  to  the  door. 

ANNE 

Tell  Brian  to  come  in  now. 

[Conn  Hourican  goes  out.     There  is  a  pause.     Maire 

hums  a  tune  as  she  goes  to  the  mirror. 

MAIRE 

Am  I  looking  well  to-day? 
Anne  (rather  distantly) 

You're  looking  your  best,  I  think.     (Seriously)  Maire, 

I  didn't  like  the  way  you  talked  to  father. 
maire  (petulantly) 

What  have  you  against  it? 

ANNE 

You're  becoming  a  stranger  to  us,  Maire. 
maire  (as  an  apology) 

I'm  out  often,  I  know,  but  I  think  as  much 
as  ever  of  the  house,  and  about  you  and  father. 
You  know  we  couldn't  let  him  go  to  the  Feis  at 
Ardagh.  We  couldn't  let  him  go  off  like  a  rambling 
fiddler. 

ANNE 

We  couldn't  let  him  go  off  by  himself. 

MAIRE 

You're  going  to  Moynihan's. 

ANNE 

Maybe  I'll  go. 

MAIRE 

Anne,  honey,  do  something  for  me. 

ANNE 

What  will  I  do? 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  25 

MAIRE 

You'll  inert  father  coming  up  with  Brian,  and  take 

him  away. 

ANNE 

Ami  will  you  tell  me  everything  to-night? 

MAIRE 

Who  else  would  I  talk  to  but  yourself,  Nancy?  (Anne 
goes  out)  I  wish  Anne  hadn't  spoken  to  me  like  that. 
I  fed  the  like  of  that.  {Desperately)  Well,  I'll  pray  for 
nothing  now  hut  to  look  my  best.  {She  goes  t<>  the  fire. 
Brian  MacConncll  comes  in)  You're  welcome,  Brian. 
BRIAN 

We  didn't  finish  to-day.     I'll  come  in  to-morrow  and 

finish. 

MAIRE 

0  no,  Brian,  we  won't  take  another  day  from  you. 

BRIAN 

Well,  what's  a  day  after  all?     Many's  the  day  and 
night  I  put  in  thinking  on  you. 
MAIRE 

But  did  you  do  what  I  asked  you  to  do? 

BRIAN 

1  did.  I  made  it  up  with  my  brothers.  It  was  never 
my  way  before.  What  I  wanted  I  took  with  the 
strong  hand;  or  if  I  mightn't  put  the  strong  hand  on 
it.  I  Kit  il  alone. 

MAIRE  (eagerly) 

Tell  me  what  your  brother  said  to  you. 

BRIAN' 

When  I  came  up  to  the  door,  Hugh  came  out  to  meet 
me.  "What  destruction  are  you  bringing  me?"  he 
said.  "There's  my  hand,"  says  I,  "and  I  take  your 
otler." 


26  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

All,  that's  settled.  You  could  settle  anything,  Brian. 
(She  goes  to  the  settle  and  sits  down)  I  wonder  could 
you  settle  something  for  us? 

BRIAN 

What  is  it,  Maire? 

MAIRE 

It's  my  father.  He  wants  to  be  rambling  again.  He 
wants  to  be  going  to  some  Feis. 

BRIAN 

Sure,  let  him  go. 
[He  takes  her  hand. 

MAIRE 

I  couldn't,  Brian.  Couldn't  you  help  us?  Couldn't 
you  keep  father's  mind  on  the  right  things? 

BRIAN 

Sure,  let  the  fiddler  go  on  the  roads. 

MAIRE 

You   might   stay   here   this   evening   with   ourselves. 

Father  would  be  glad  to  talk  with  you. 
Brian   ('putting  his  arm  around  her) 

But  I  want  the  two  of  us  to  be  seen  in  Moynihan's 

to-night. 
maire  (resistance  in  her  voice) 

Stay  here  with  us,  and  let  all  that  go  by. 

BRIAN 

Hugh  will  be  there  with  that  woman  that  brought  him 
the  big  fortune;  and  I  want  you  to  take  the  shine  out 
of  her. 

maire  (rising) 

I  was  out  often  lately.    You  know  that,  Brian. 
[She  goes  to  chair  at  table,  and  sits  away  from  him. 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  27 


brian  (rising  and  going  to  her) 
But  this  night  above  all  you  must  be  with  mc. 

M.uwi.  (tiiruinii  to  him  impulsively) 
Stay  here  and  I'll  be  as  nice  to  you  as  if  we  were  in 
another  house.     <//<'  kisses  her.     She  rises  and  ; 
from  him)     If  you  knew  me  at  all,  Brian  MacConnell, 

that's  not  the  way  you'd  treat  me. 

BRIAN 

Are  you  not  coming  out  with  me? 

M.UUE 

You  must  leave  me  to  myself  now.     (Conn  Hourican 
comes  in)     Is  Anne  with  you,  father? 

CONN 

She's  gathering  posies  or  something  like  that.    Brian, 
did  you  hear  about  the  Feis  at  Ardagh? 
maikk  ( with  vehemence) 

Oh,   what's   the   good  of   talking  about  that?     You 
can't  go. 

CONN 

Can't  go,  did  you  say,  girl? 

MA  IKE 

Oh,  how  could  you  go? 

CONN 

[s  that  the  way?     Well,  God  help  us.     Give  mc  that 

tiddle  till  I  leave  it  up. 

[//<   tah     the  fiddle  off  dresser,  and  turns  to  go. 

M  AIRE 

Father,  let   me  be  with  you   to-night;    oh,  I'm   sorry 

if   I   \e\ed   you.      (No   reply)      Well,    stay   with    Brian 

MacConnell;    I'm  going  out  to  Anne. 

[Moire  goes  <>ut.     Brian  goes  to  rack,  and  puts  <>n  his 

cuat. 


28  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

BRIAN 

Are  you  coming,  Conn?   I'm  off. 

CONN 

Where  to,  man? 

BRIAN 

To  Flynn's. 

CONN 

I  can't  be  going,  I'm  sorry  to  say. 

BRIAN 

I'm  going  anyway.     It's  a  great  thing  to  be  in  the 
company  of  men. 

CONN 

Ay,  in  troth.     Women,  Brian,  leave  the  heart  of  one 
very  lonesome. 
Brian  (masterfully) 

Why  can't  you  come  out?    I  thought  you  were  going 
to-night. 

CONN 

I  can't,  Brian,  and  that  reminds  me.     Give  these  few 
shillings  to  Flynn  for  me.     I'll  owe  them  to  you  still. 

BRIAN 

I'm  not  going  to  be  bothered   by   the  like.     Why 
can't  you  come? 

CONN 

I  promised  Maire. 

[Brian  strides  away.    He  turns,  comes  bach  deliberately, 

and  sits  on  table  beside  Conn. 

BRIAN 

They'll  be  all  looking  out  for  you  at  Flynn's. 

CONN 

Well,  the  next  time  they  see  me  they  may  respect  me. 

BRIAN 

Some  of  the  boys  will  take  it  very  unkindly. 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  20 

CON  N 

They're  deeent  enough  fellows,  some  of  them. 

BRIAN 

And  above  all  nights  they'll  be  watching  out  for 
you  this  night,  on  account  of  the  Sligomen. 

CONK 

They're  decent  enough  fellows,  as  I  said,  and  I'll 
lie  sorry  to  disappoint  them. 

in;  i  \\ 

The  Sligomen  will  have  great  stories  about  Shawn 

Ilcfl'crnan. 
CONN 

Shawn  Heffernan!    Is  that  impostor  still  alive? 

BRIAN 

He  is,  and  for  fiddling  these  Sligomen  think  there's 
not  the  like  of  him  in  the  whole  of  Ireland. 

CON  N 

God  help  them  if  that's  all  they  know.  We  played 
against  each  other  at  the  Granard  Feis.    He  got  the 

prize,  but  everybody  knew  that  it  was  me  played  the 
he. I. 
BRIAN 

There's  few  of  them  alive  now  that  mind  of  the  Gran- 
ard Feis.  He  got  the  prize,  and  there's  no  talk  of 
you  at  all. 

CON  N 

No  talk  of  me  at  all? 

BRIAN 

[t's  said  that  since  you  settled  down  you  lost  your 
art. 
CONN 

And  what  had  the  men  at  Flynn's  to  say  about 
that? 


30  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

BRIAN 

They  bragged  about  you  for  a  while,  but  the  Sligomen 
put  them  down. 

CONN 

I  wonder  would  we  have  time  to  go  up,  play  a  few 
tunes,  and  come  back,  while  Maire  would  be  doing 
something?  It  would  be  a  pity  not  to  give  them 
fellows  a  lesson  and  close  their  ignorant  mouths  for 
them.  I  wonder  would  we  have  time?  {Anne  comes 
in  with  Maire)  I  thought  you  went  somewhere  and 
left  Brian  and  myself  here. 

ANNE 

We're  going  somewhere  and  Brian  might  come  with  us. 

MAIRE 

Every  one  is  going  to  Moynihan's. 

CONN 

It's  a  pleasant  house,  a  pleasant  house.  Brian  will 
make  his  ceilidh1  with  me.  We  might  go  over  a  few 
tunes. 

ANNE 

Let  Brian  come  where  there  are  girls  that  might  miss 
him. 

MAIRE 

Anne,  you're  a  great  one  for  keeping  up  the  story 
that  girls  are  always  thinking  about  men. 

ANNE 

And  so  they  are.  Just  as  men  are  always  thinking 
about  girls. 

MAIRE 

You'd  make  a  good  ribbonman.2  You'd  put  a  face 
on  anything  you  said. 

1  Celidh,  pronounced  cayley,  a  visit. 

2  A  ribbonman — a  member  of  a  secret  agrarian  society. 


THE   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  31 


Ribbonism  and  secret   societies  were  denounced  off 
the  altar. 
mm  hi: 
Goodness!     The    men    will    begin    to    think    they've 
secrets  worth  telling. 

Have  you  secrets  worth  telling,  Brian? 

KAIRE 

I   daresay  he  has.     There  arc  foolish  women  in  the 

world. 
\  \  M : 

Are  you  coming  to  Moynihan's,  Brian? 

BRIAN 

No.    I'm  going  where  there's  men. 

MAIKI. 

Come,  Anne,  till  I  deck  you  out.  Come  here,  daugh- 
ter, don't  wear  flowers.  I  think  they're  unlucky. 
Here  I  am  talking  like  this,  and  I  going  to  a  dance. 
I  suppose  I'll  dance  with  seven  or  eight  and  forget, 
what's  on  my  mind.  .  .  .  Everyone  is  going  to  Moyni- 
han's except  the  men  here.    Are  you  going  out,  father? 

i 

I'm  making  a  ceilidh  with  Brian. 

M  AIRE 

Well,  God  be  with  you  both.    Conn-  on,  Anne. 
{Moire  takes  down  her  shawl,  and  puis  it  over  her  head. 
She  standi  at  the  door,   watching  Anne,   who  goee  to 
in. 

a  \  \  i ; 

Brian,  what  have  you  against  Moynihan's? 

BRIAN 

Nothing  at  all.      I   may  go  in. 


32  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

Come  on,  Anne.     God  be  with  you  both. 

\_Maire  and  Anne  go  out.     They  are  heard  talking  for  a 

while.     Conn  goes  to  the  door. 

CONN 

Maire  and  Anne  are  turning  the  bohereen.1     Come 

on  now. 

[He  takes  his  fiddle  and  begins  to  wrap  it  up  eagerly. 

BRIAN 

Ay,  let's  go. 
conn  (at  door) 

I  never  forget,  I  never  forget.     The  Granard  Feis  is 
as  fresh  in  my  mind  as  the  day  I  played  at  it.    Shawn 
Heffernan,  indeed!     I  never  forget.     I  never  forget. 
[Conn  Hourican  and  Brian  MacConnell  go  out. 

1  Bohereen  —  the  little  path  going  from  the  cottage  to  the  main 
road. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 
The  next  day:  The  scene  is  as  in  previous  Act.    It  is 

now   in   the  J'nn  noon.      Muire  Hourican   is  sinlcd  at  the 
fire   in  a  listless  altitude.     Anne  is  busy  at  the  dresser. 
Moire  rises. 
[AIRE 
We  shouldn't  have  stayed  at  Moynihan's  so  late. 

am; 
Indeed  it  would  have  been  better  to  go  home,  but  I 
was  sure  that  Brian  MacConnell  would  come  in. 

[AIRE 

Well,  it  was  his  own  loss  if  he  didn't  come.     Maybe 
there  was  one  there  that  I  liked  better. 
,  \  \  i : 
You  couldn't  have  liked  Connor  Gilpatrick  better 
than  Brian  MaeConnell. 

[AIRE 

Connor's  the  best-looking  boy  in  the  country.    Was  it 
noticed  that  we  were  together  often? 
kNNE  {significantly) 
Peggy  Carroll  noticed  it. 

[AIRE 

Well,  tin-  boy  was  glad  to  talk  to  me.  Connor's  a 
good  dancer,  and  Ik*  has  line  i;ilk  besides.  It'  Brian 
MacConnell  hail  come  to  the  door,  I  wouldn't  have 

turned  inv  head  towards  him. 
am; 
Surf,  you  wouldn't  compare  a  young  boy  like  Connor 
Gilpatrick  with  Brian  MacConnell? 


34  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

I  wouldn't  have  turned  my  head  towards  Brian.  O! 
never  expect  kindness  from  men.  Why  did  you  let 
me  stay  on?  I'm  afraid  to  look  at  myself  in  the  glass 
to-day.  (She  goes  over  to  the  mirror)  You  were  hard 
on  me,  Anne,  yesterday. 

ANNE 

I  didn't  like  the  way  you  talked  to  father. 

MAIRE 

I  think  I'm  getting  different  to  what  I  used  to  be. 
Well,  I've  reason  to  be  sorry  for  what  I  did  yesterday. 
(She  is  at  windoic)  W^as  Peggy  Carroll  vexed  at  the 
way  I  went  on? 

ANNE 

She  never  took  her  eyes  off  the  pair  of  you.  You 
know  she's  very  fond  of  Connor. 

MAIRE 

Anne,  never  remind  me  of  my  foolishness.  I'm  heart- 
sick of  myself  to-day. 

ANNE 

I'll  comb  out  your  hair  for  you,  and  you'll  look  well 
enough. 

MAIRE 

Then  you're  expecting  Brian  MacConnell? 

ANNE 

It's  likely  he'll  come  in  to  see  if  there's  anything  to 
be  done. 

MAIRE 

I   suppose  he'll  come  in.     Gracious,  how  did  father 
get  out?    He's  coming  up  the  path. 
anne  (coming  to  Maire) 

Father's  not  up,  surely?  Maire,  be  easy  with  Brian 
MacConnell  when  he  comes  in. 


TIIK   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  86 

I  \n;i: 

Father's  coming  up  the  path.    Anne! 
\  \  \  i ; 

Whal  is  it,  Maire? 

iAIBE 

Father  wasn't  in  al  all,  last  night. 

Then  he  went   to   Flynn's,  alter  all. 
.t  v  I  it  E 

Ay,  he  wenl    to  Flynn's. 
[She  goes  to  Antic. 

inm; 

0  Maire,  what  will  become  of  us  all? 
,iaii;i: 

1  don't   know. 

[Maire  <j<>t  s  to  the  settle,  and  .sits  down. 

IKNE 
What  will  we  do  with  him  at  all? 
run  Hourican  come*  in. 

ONN 

God  save  you!    (He  looks  around)     Well,  I  came  back 
to  ye. 

You  did,  God  help  us!     And  we  depending  on  you. 
It's  the  had  way  yon  always  treated  us. 

Did   you    hear   what    happened   to    me,    before   yon 
attack  me? 

LNNE 

Whal   happened  to  you?     What  always  happens  to 

yon? 

ONX 

I  wonder  thai  a  man  comes  in  at  all!    The  complaints 


36  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

against  him  are  like  the  Queen's  Speech,  prepared 
beforehand. 

ANNE 

Ever  since  I  can  remember,  you  treated  us  like  that. 
Bringing  us  into  drinking-places  and  we  little.  It's 
well  we  got  to  know  anything,  or  got  into  the  way  of 
being  mannerly  at  all. 

CONN 

You  know  too  much.  I  always  said  that.  Is  James 
Moynihan  coming  here  to-day? 

ANNE 

No,  he  isn't  coming  here  to-day. 

CONN 

Well,  we  can  do  without  him.  There's  something  to 
be  done  to-day.  I  said  I'd  do  the  bit  of  mowing,  and 
I  was  thinking  of  that  all  along.  {He  looks  at  Maire) 
Did  you  hear  what  happened  to  me,  Maire? 

MAIRE 

It's  no  matter  at  all. 

CONN 

I  went  over  to  Flynn's,  I  may  tell  you. 

ANNE 

In  troth  we  might  have  known  that. 

CONN 

But  did  you  hear  what  happened  to  me? 

ANNE 

How  could  we  hear?  It  was  Maire  went  to  the  door, 
and  there  you  were  coming  up  the  path;  and  we 
thinking  you  were  in  bed,  resting  yourself. 

CONN 

I  went  over  to  Flynn's,  but  I  had  good  reason  for 
going  there.  {He  puts  the  fiddle  down  on  the  table) 
Didn't  you  hear  there  were  Sligomen  in  the  town, 


THE   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  37 

Maire?  Well,  one  * >f  them  was  in  1 1 1 « *  way  of  reward- 
ing the  prizes.  I  told  you  aboul  the  Feis;  well,  it's 
no  matter  now.  1*11  say  no  more  about  that.  At  all 
events  the  man  1  mentioned  wanted  to  know  what 

music  was  in   the  country,  so  he  sent  a  message  to 
myself. 
ANNE  (as  satirical  as  she  can  be) 
That  was  kind  of  him. 

■       \  N 

It  was.  I  could  do  no  less  than  go.  I'll  rest  myself 
now,  and  then  get  ready  for  the  mowing.  (He  goes 
to  the  room  door;  he  turns  again  and  watches  Maire) 
Maire,  I'm  sorry  you  weren't  on  the  spot.  You 
might  have  advised  me.  I  couldn't  think  of  where 
you  went  or  I'd  have  followed  you.  I  had  to  make 
haste. 

maiki: 

It's  no  matter  at  all  now. 

I      \  N 

I'll  stretch  myself  on  the  bed  before  I  begin  work. 
Anne,  did  you  say  you  were  leaving  something  in 
the  room  for  me? 

ANNE 

I  suppose  I'll  have  to  leave  the  tea  in  the  room  for 

you. 

[She  gets  the  tea  read)/.     Main-  remains  motionless. 

Well,    I   have   the  pattern   of  daughters,  anyway.      I 

wouldn't  give  this  house  tor  the  praise  of  Ireland,  no, 
not  if  they  carried  me  on  their  had.-.  Anne  takes 
the  tea  up  l<>  the  room)  It's  a  pity  you  weren't  there, 
Maire,   though  of  course  I   wouldn't  bring  you   into 

such  a  place.      But    they   wire  decent   fellow-,  decent, 


38  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


warm-hearted  fellows.  If  you  were  to  see  their  faces 
when  I  played  An  Chailin  Bonn.  I'll  warrant  they'll 
be  whistling  it,  though  they  never  heard  the  tune 
before.  And  the  manners  they  have!  I  offered  the 
fiddle  to  one  of  them.  "No,"  says  he,  "not  a  string 
will  I  touch  while  the  master  of  us  is  here."  That's 
something  like  the  spirit.  (Maire  has  turned  to  him 
and  is  attentive)  But  there,  I  won't  fill  myself  up 
with  false  music  telling  you  about  it  all. 
[He  turns  to  the  room. 

MAIRE 

Bring  up  your  fiddle. 
conn  {taking  fiddle  and  going  towards  room  again) 

It  will  be  as  good  as  sound  sleeping  for  me.    I'll  never 
forget  it.     Flynn  will  never  forget  it.     It  will  be  the 
making  of  Flynn. 
[Maire  rises. 

MAIRE 

You've  only  your  fiddle;  we  shouldn't  forget  that. 
[Conn  goes  up  to  the  room.     Maire  turns  to  the  fire. 
Anne  comes  down. 

ANNE 

O  Maire,  what  will  become  of  us  at  all? 

MAIRE 

He  is  very  pleased  with  himself.     He  has  only  his 
fiddle,  we  shouldn't  forget  that. 

ANNE 

It  will  be  a  long  time  till  he  does  the  like  again. 

MAIRE 

It  will  be  a  long  time,  I  suppose.    Both  of  us  might  be 
in  a  different  house  and  have  different  cares. 

ANNE 

That  would  be  terrible.    I'll  never  leave  him,  Maire. 


THE   FIDDLER'S  BOUSE  S9 


m  \n;i; 

^  on  can't  say  the  like  now. 
\\m: 

Why? 

MA  IRE 

How  could  you  take  such  things  upon  you  and  life 
stretching  out  before  you?  You're  not  young  enough, 
Anm-.  Besides,  it's  not  what  we  say;  it's  what  we 
feel.  No,  it's  not  what  we  feel  either;  it's  what 
grows  up  in  us. 

AN'. 

He  might  never  do  the  like  again. 

MAIKE 

Many's  the  time  mother  said  that,  and  she  and  me 

lying  together. 
a  \  \  i ; 

Will  we  ever  get  out  of  it,  Maire? 
ves  ntti  rs. 

MA! 

You  have  only  a  while  to  stay  with  us. 
m: 

0  James,  what  will  your  father  say  if  he  hears  of  you 
giving  us  another  day? 

E8 
My  father  tool,  a  stick  in  hi-  hand  this  morning,  and 
went  off  with  himself. 

MAIl:l. 

You're  welcome,  James.     It  was  a  pleasant  time  we 
had  in  your  house  la-t  evening. 
J  w: 

1  hope  you  liked  the  company,  Maire.  I'm  afraid 
there  was  very  link-  to  be  called  refined  or  scholarly, 


40  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

and  the  conversation  at  times  was  homely  enough. 
But  we  did  our  best,  and  we  were  proud  to  see  you. 

MAIRE 

Sit  down,  James. 

[James  sits  on  chair,  near  table.     Maire  is  seated  at 

fire,  left  of  James.     Anne  leans  against  table,  right  of 

him. 

JAMES 

Your  father  is  outside,  maybe? 

MAIRE 

No.    He's  above  in  the  room. 

JAMES 

Yes.  Practising,  I  suppose.  Them  that  have  the 
gift  have  to  mind  the  gift.  In  this  country  there 
isn't  much  thought  for  poetry,  or  music,  or  scholar- 
ship. Still,  a  few  of  us  know  that  a  while  must  be 
spared  from  the  world  if  we  are  to  lay  up  riches  in  the 
mind. 

ANNE 

I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong  at  home? 
james  {turning  to  Anne) 

To  tell  you  the  truth,  Anne,  and  to  keep  nothing 

back,  there  is. 
maire 

And  what  is  it,  James? 
james  {turning  to  Maire) 

Anne  was  talking  to  my  father  last  night. 

ANNE 

Indeed  I  was,  and  I  thought  him  very  friendly  to  me. 

JAMES 

Ay,  he  liked  you  well  enough,  I  can  tell  you  that, 
Anne.  This  morning  when  he  took  a  stick  in  his 
hand,  I  knew  he  was  making  ready  for  a  journey,  for 


THE   FIDDLER'S   BOUSE  41 

the  horse  is  laid  up.     "Walk  down  a  bi(   with  me," 

Id  he,  "and  we'll  go  over  a  few  things  thai  an-  in 
my  mind."  Well,  1  walked  down  with  him,  and 
indeed  we  had  a  serious  conversation. 

A  \  \  l  i 
Well? 

J  kMES 

"Anne  Hourican  is  too  young,"  said  my  father;  "she's 
B  nice  girl,  and  a  good  girl,  but  she's  too  young." 

IfAIRE 

Sure  in  a  while  Anne  will  be  twenty. 

james  {turning  to  Moire) 

Ten  years  from  this  father  would  still  think  Anne 
too  young.  And  late  marriages,  as  everybody  knows, 
is  the  real  weakness  of  the  eountry. 

ANNE 

I  thought  your  father  liked  me. 

JAMES 

lie  likes  you  well  enough,  but,  as  he  says,  "what 
would  she  be  doing  here  and  your  sisters  years  older 
than  herself?"  There's  truth  in  that,  mind  you.  I 
always  give  in  to  the  truth. 

MA  IKE 

James? 
JAMES  (turning  to  M aire) 
Well,  Maire? 

MAIRE 

Is  Anne  a  girl  to  be  waiting  twenty  years  for  a  man, 
like  Sally  Cassidy? 

JAM 

God  forbid,  Maire  Hourican,  that  I'd  ask  your  sister 
to  wait  that  length. 


42  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

She  hasn't  got  a  fortune.  We  were  brought  up  dif- 
ferent to  farmers,  and  maybe  we  never  gave  thought 
to  the  like. 

JAMES 

She  has  what's  better  than  a  fortune. 

MAIRE 

Why  aren't  your  sisters  married  off? 

JAMES 

Big  fortunes  are  expected  with  them. 

MAIRE 

And  they  look  to  your  wife  to  bring  a  big  fortune 
into  the  house? 

JAMES 

Ay,  they  do  that. 

MAIRE 

You,  James,  ought  to  have  some  control  in  the  house. 
You're  the  only  son.  Your  father  is  well  off.  Get 
him  to  fortune  off  your  sisters,  and  then  bring  Anne 
to  the  house. 

JAMES 

But  how  could  I  get  father  to  fortune  off  the  girls? 

MAIRE 

How?  By  wakening  up.  You  have  the  right.  When 
we  have  the  right,  we  ought  to  be  able  to  do  any- 
thing we  like  with  the  people  around  us. 

JAMES 

I  give  in  to  the  truth  of  that,  Maire. 

MAIRE 

What  will  come  of  you  giving  in  to  the  truth  of  it? 
But  sure  you  ought  to  remember,  Anne. 
anne  (taking  James's  hand) 

James  has  the  good  way  with  people. 


THE   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  43 


maim: 

Well,  I  suppose  it  will  come  out  right  for  you  in  the 
end.  You  arc  both  very  deserving.  {She  rises)  Hut 
some  time  or  another  we  have  to  lake  tilings  into  our 
own  hands. 

JAMBS 

Indeed  that's  true,  Maire. 
[Moire  goes  to  back. 
awi:  [holding  James**  hand) 

Piil  you  make  any  more  songs,  James? 

JAM 

I  have  a  song  in  my  head  since  lasl  night. 
awi: 

The  one  in  the  paper  is  lovely.     I  know  it  by  heart. 

JAM 

The  next  I  make  will  In-  ten  times  better. 
[(   mi  Hourican  comes  down. 

(  onn 

I  heard  your  voice,  James,  and  I  thought  I'd  come 
down.  It's  very  good  of  you  to  come  here  again.  Til 
be  "ill  with  you  to-day. 

JAM  I  S 

It'll  be  a  good  day  from  this  on.  Were  you  practising 
above,  Mister  Hourican? 

(  ONN 

Well,  no,  James,  I  wasnM  practising.     I  was  at  a  big 
thering  lasl  night,  and  my  hands  arc  unstrung  like. 
We'll  talk  for  a  while,  and  then  I'll  go  out  with  you. 
ANN]  king  James' S  n rni ) 

Come  out  with  me  for  a  minute,  James. 

james  {going  off) 

I'll  see  you  again,  Mister  Hourican. 
[James  and  Anne  yu  out. 


44  THE  FIDDLERS  HOUSE 

CONN 

Well,  God  help  us.  {He  turns  to  go  back  to  the  room. 
Moire  comes  down  from  back)  Are  you  going  out, 
Maire? 

MAIRE 

No,  I'm  staying  here. 
conn  {aggrieved) 

Do  you  mind  them  two,  how  they  went  out  together. 

I  think  I'll  go  out  and  see  what's  to  be  done  about  the 

place. 

\_Conn  goes  towards  the  entrance.     Maire  goes  towards 

the  fire. 
conn  {pausing  at  door) 

I  broke  my  word  to  you,  Maire. 

MAIRE 

I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you  now. 

CONN 

It  was  the  music  and  the  strange  faces  that  drew  me. 

MAIRE 

I  know  that  now. 

CONN 

It  will  be  a  long  time  till  I  break  my  word  to  you 
again. 

MAIRE 

I'll  never  ask  for  your  word  again. 
conn  {warmly) 

I  can  tell  you  this,  Maire.  There's  many's  the  place 
in  Ireland  where  Conn  Hourican's  word  would  be 
respected. 

MAIRE 

I'll  never  ask  for  your  word  again.  You  have  only 
your  fiddle,  and  you  must  go  among  people  that  will 
praise  you.     When  I  heard  you  talking  of  your  lis- 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  L5 

teners,  I   knew   that.     I  was  frightened  before  that. 

When  I  -aw  you  coming,  I  went  and  sat  there,  and  I 
thought  tlu-  walls  of  the  house  were  crowding  in  on  me. 

CON  \ 

You  were  partly  to  blame,  Mairc.  You  left  mc  there 
very  lonesome. 

M  HUE 

I  was  to  blame,  I  suppose.  I  should  have  treated  you 
differently.  Well,  I  know  you  better  now.  Let  you 
sit  down  and  we'll  talk  together.  (Conn  sits  on  chair 
to  right  of  table)  What's  to  become  of  myself  I  don't 
know.  Anne  and  James  Moynihan  will  marry,  I 
hope.  Neither  of  us  have  fortunes,  and  for  that 
reason  our  house  should  be  well  spoken  of. 

CON  \ 

Sure  I  know  that.  I  wouldn't  bring  the  shadow  of  a 
disgrace  near  ye. 

M.HUE 

If  the  father  isn't  well  spoken  of,  how  could  the  house 
be  well  spoken  of?     They're  big  drinkers  that  go  to 
Flynn's,  and  it's  easy  for  the  fiddler  to  get  into  the 
way  of  drinking. 
CON  N 

I  won't  go  to  Flynn's  when  you  put  it  that  way. 
■CAERE 

I'll  ask  for  no  word.  I'll  let  you  know  the  real  way 
of  the  house,  and  then  trust  you. 

CONN 

You're  a  good  girl,  Mairc.     I  should  have  been  said 
by  you. 
m.hki: 

Prom  this  out  there  will  be  dances  at  the  schoolhouse 

and  the  like  of  that.     You  could  be  playing  at  them. 


46  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

CONN 

None  of  the  oul'  people  go  to  the  like,  and  the  young 
don't  understand  me  nor  my  ways.  God  knows  will 
I  ever  play  again.  That  thought  is  often  with  me  of 
late,  and  it  makes  me  very  lonesome. 

MAIRE 

That's  foolishness. 

CONN 

I  was  very  lonesome  when  you  left  me.    You  don't 
know  how  I  was  tempted,  Maire.    There  was  Brian 
MacConnell  putting  on  his  coat  to  go  to  Flynn's,  and 
talking  of  the  Sligomen. 
maire  (startled) 

And  was  it  to  Flynn's  that  Brian  MacConnell  went? 

CONN 

It  was  Brian  that  brought  me  to  Flynn's. 

MAIRE 

Was    it    Brian    MacConnell    that    brought    you    to 

Flynn's? 

CONN 

It  was. 
maire  (passionately) 

You  must  never  go  to  Flynn's. 

CONN 

I'm  ashamed  of  myself.    Didn't  I  say  that,  Maire? 

maire  (with  hardness) 

You  must  never  go  again. 

CONN 

And  is  a  man  to  have  no  life  to  himself? 

MAIRE 

That's  talk  just.  It's  time  you  thought  of  your  own 
place  and  your  own  children.  It's  time  you  gave  up 
caring  for  the  praise  of  foolish  people. 


THE   FIDDLERS  HOUSE  47 


CONN 

Foolish  people,  did  you  say? 
maiki: 
Ay,  foolish  people.    You  had  all  your  life  to  yourself, 
and  you  went  here  and  there,  straying  from  place  to 

place,  and  earing  only  for  the  praise  of  foolish  people. 

CONN 

God  help  y>u,  if  that's  your  way  of  thinking!  Sure 
the  world  knows  that  a  man  is  born  with  the  gift, 
and  isn't  the  gift  then  the  sign  of  the  grace  of  God? 
Foolish  people,  indeed!  Them  that  know  the  gift 
have  some  of  the  grace  of  God,  no  matter  how  poor 
they  may  be. 

maiki: 

You're  always  thinking  of  them.  You  never  think 
of  your  own.  Many's  the  time  your  own  cried  tears 
over  your  playing. 

<  onn  (passionately,  starting  up) 
I'll  go  out  of  the  house. 

II  UKE 

Let  you  stay  here. 
CONK  g  towards  entrance) 

I'll  go  out  of  the  house,  I  tell  you. 

MAIRE 

Xo. 
'    nn  goes  over  to  the  fire. 

CONN 

God  help  me  that  ever  came  into  this  country  at  all. 
(He  sits  down   on   the  armchair,   his   hands   resting   on 
his  stick)      I  had  friends  once,  and  was  well  thought 
of;    I  can  tell  you  that,  my  daughter. 
M  LIRE 

I  know  that. 


48  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

CONN 

Well,  you  can  have  your  own  way  with  me  now. 

MAIRE 

Why  can't  you  stay  here?  There's  lots  to  be  done 
here.  Our  fields  are  a  laughing-stock  to  the  neigh- 
bours, they're  that  poor  and  wasted.  Let  us  put  all  our 
minds  into  working,  and  have  a  good  place  of  our  own. 

CONN 

Ay,  and  the  grabbers  and  informers  of  this  place 
would  think  well  of  you  then. 

MAIRE 

Who  do  you  call  grabbers  and  informers? 

CONN 

The  people  of  this  place.  The  people  you  want  to 
shine  before. 

MAIRE 

I  don't  want  to  shine  before  the  people. 

CONN 

I'm  not  saying  against  you,  Maire. 

MAIRE 

You're  wrong  in  thinking  I  want  to  shine  at  all. 

CONN 

Sure  you  go  to  every  dance  and  ceilidh;  and  to  every 
house  where  you  can  show  off  your  face,  and  dancing, 
and  conversation. 

MAIRE 

Do  I?     Maybe  I  do.     Every  girl  does  the  like. 

CONN 

I'm  not  saying  against  it. 
[Pause. 

MAIRE 

You  think  I'm  like  yourself,  wanting  the  praise  of 
the  people. 


TIIK   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  49 

CONN 

And  what's  the  harm  if  you  do? 
II  aiki: 

No  harm  at  all.     But  I  don't  go  to  houses  to  show 

myself  off. 

CONN 

Troth  and  you  do,  Maire. 

[//r  rises  and  goes  towards  the  entrance,  and  remain.: 
looking  out. 
M  ORE 

I  won't  believe  it. 

[She  goes  to  the  settle.     Anne  comes  in.     Anne  goes  to 

the  glass  to  fix  her  hair. 

CONN 
Ilad  you  a  good  night  at  Moynihan's,  Anne? 

ANNK 

A  sort  of  a  good  night. 

CONN 

I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  a  man  I  met  last  night. 
He  had  a  song  about  your  grandmother. 

ANNi. 

Was  grandmother  a  great  beauty,  father? 
BONN 
Honor  Gilroy  had  good  looks,  and  indeed  she  made 
the  mosl  of  them. 

MAIRE 

It's  likely   there  was  some   to  tell   her   thai    she   was 
showing  oir. 

CONN 

No  one  was  to  her  liking  unless  they  praised  1i<t. 

an  N 

Ah  well,  a  fiddler  ought  to  forgive  that  to  a  woman. 


50  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

Fiddlers  and  women  are  all  alike,  but  don't  say  that 
to  him. 

[Anne  goes  to  Maire  and  sits  beside  her. 
conn  (speaking  to  both) 

Well,  Honor  Gilroy  wasn't  the  worst,  maybe. 

MAIRE 

And  fiddlers  and  women  oughtn't  be  hard  on  each 
other. 

CONN 

Do  you  say  that,  Maire? 
maire  (rising  and  going  to  him) 
I  say  it,  father. 

CONN 

God  forgive  me  if  I  vexed  you,  Maire. 

ANNE 

It's  clearing  up  now,  father,  and  you  ought  to  go  out 
to  James.     (Conn  turns  to  the  door.     He  remains  in 
the  dooncay.     Anne  rises  and  goes  to  Maire)     What 
did  you  say  to  him? 
maire  (looking  at  Conn) 

He  doesn't  feel  it  at  all.     Father  will  always  be  the 
fiddler,  no  matter  what  we  say. 

ANNE 

Maire.     Come  and  talk  to  me.     (They  sit  at  fire)     I 
was   talking  to  James.     He'll  never  be  happy  until 
we're  under  the  one  roof. 
[Maire  clasps  Anne's  hands  passionately. 
maire  (icith  cry) 

Anne,  daughter,  I'll  be  very  lonesome  for  you. 

ANNE 

But  sure  I  won't  be  far  off,  Maire. 


THE   FIDDLER'S   HOUSE  51 

m  \n;i: 

Ay.  but   it's  terrible  Id  fact"  tiling-;  alone 

[James  has  come  to  tin'  door.     Conn  (Did  James  have 
been  talking.     Then  turn  in. 

Hul    I'll   1h>  glad  enough  to  have  the  scythe  in  my 
hands  after  it  all,  James. 

IAMES 

Anne  was  tilling  me  how  you  took  the  victory  from 
Connaught. 
con  \ 

Still  I'm  sorry  for  him!    That  poor  HefTernan!    He'll 
never  hold  up  his  head  again. 

JAM: 

Sure  I'd  have  it  in  a  ballad  that  would  be  sung  in  his 

own  town.      It  would    be  well  worth   putting   into  a 

ballad. 
CON  N" 

Will    indeed,    it    would    make   a    right    good    ballad, 

James. 
FAMES 

I'd  like  to  make  a  ballad  about  it,  that  would  be  sung 

all  over  Connaught. 
BONN 

And   why   wouldn't   you   do   it,   James   Moynihan? 
Sun-  it   would  he  the  making  of  you.     It  would  be 

sung  all  over  Ireland,  and  your  Dame  to  it.      Do  you 
hear  that,   Mairc?     Do  you  hear  that,  Anne? 
JAM  is 

I'm    viying  that  I'd   like  to  do  a  ballad  about  your 
father's  \  ictory. 

BONN 

Maybe  you  could  have  it  this  night  week,  James? 


52  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


ANNE 

Will  it  be  a  poem  or  a  ballad,  James? 
[Anne  goes  to  him. 

CONN 

If  you  had  it  this  night  week,  we  could  bring  the  boys 
to  the  place.  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Maire?  We'll 
bring  the  boys  here  this  night  week  to  hear  James 
Moynihan's  ballad. 

MAIRE 

I  was  thinking  of  the  Feis  at  Ardagh. 

CONN 

The  Feis  at  Ardagh? 

MAIRE 

Maybe  you'll  be  going  to  it  this  night  week. 

CONN 

Sure  you're  not  joking  with  me,  Maire? 

MAIRE 

No. 

[She  rises. 

CONN 

God  forgive  me,  Maire,  if  I  vexed  you. 

[Maire  goes  up  to  Conn's  room. 

CONN 

Anne,  jewel,  had  Maire  anything  to  say  about  Ardagh? 

ANNE 

We  weren't  talking  about  that  at  all. 

JAMES 

Play  me  a  rouse  on  the  fiddle  and  maybe  the  ballad 

will  come  into  my  head. 

[Maire  comes  down,  a  fiddle  in  her  hands. 

MAIRE 

Here's  the  fiddle  that  was  your  favourite,  the  Gran- 
ard  fiddle. 


. 


Ill  1 :   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  53 


.  <  ■■ 
And  this  is  the  fiddle  I'll  bring  with  me  to  Ardagh. 

A  N  N  B 

And  is  he  going  to  Ardagh? 

JAMES 

And  what  about  the  ballad.  Mister  Hourican? 

I  leave  it  all  l<>  Maire  now.    How  well  she  bethought 
of  the  Granard  fiddle. 

MA  IKK 

Father,  we  were  always  together. 

[She  hands  him  the  fiddle.     Conn,  Mairc,  James,  Anne, 

arc  at  tabic. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 

A  week  later:  The  scene  is  as  in  previous  Acts.  The  table 
is  near  entrance.  It  is  laid  for  a  meal.  The  time  is  near 
sunset.  Conn  Hourican,  Maire  Hourican,  and  James 
Moynihan  are  seated  at  table.  Maire  Hourican  rises. 
She  goes  to  entrance  and  remains  looking  out.  Conn 
and  James  go  on  eating. 

CONN 

However  it  is,  I  could  never  play  my  best  in  this 
place.  The  houses  are  too  scattered,  I  often  think. 
And  it  doesn't  do  for  the  fiddler  to  remain  too  long 
in  the  one  place.  The  people  get  too  used  to  him. 
Virgil  made  better  songs  than  any  man,  but  if  Virgil 
was  sung  in  the  fairs  constant,  divil  much  heed  would 
be  given  to  his  songs. 

JAMES 

Now,  I  often  thought  of  that. 

CONN 

Another  thing,  James  Moynihan,  Ribbonism  and  the 
Land  League  ruined  the  country. 
\_Maire  goes  out. 

JAMES 

But  sure  we  must  be  doing  something  for  the  Cause. 

CONN 

They  were  all  Fenians  here  when  I  came  into  this 
country  first,  over  twenty  years  ago. 
[He  rises  and  goes  into  room. 

JAMES 

Well,  he's  a  great  man,  Conn  Hourican.    {James  rises 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  55 

and  goes  to  fire.  Conn  cornea  out  of  room,  carrying  a 
greatcoat)     How  do  you  think  you'll  do  al  Ajrdagh? 

CONN 

1  think  I'll  do  very  well  at  Axdagh,  James. 
[Hi-  leaves  coat  on  settle. 
JAMES 

Everything's  ready  for  the  start. 

CONN 

Ay,  ami  it's  near  time  for  going.  I'm  playing  very 
well  lately,  James.  It's  the  thought  of  being  before 
people  who'll  know  music.  If  I  was  staying  in  this 
place  any  longer,  James,  I'd  put.  my  fiddle  in  the 
thatch,  and  leave  it  there  for  the  birds  to  pick  holes 
in. 

JAMES 

But  won't  you  be  back  here  after  the  Feis  at  Ardagh? 

(  ONN 

Well,  I  will,  for  a  while  anyway. 

JAMES 

And  would  you  be  going  off  again  after  a  while? 

CON\ 

I'm  thinking  that  when  my  daughters  are  settled  I'll 
have  the  years  before  me.  I  was  reared  in  a  place 
south  of  this,  and  I'd  like  to  go  back  there  for  a 
while. 

JAMES 

But  wouldn't  you  come  back  to  us? 

con  \ 

There'-  many's  the  place  in  Ireland  that  I  never  saw, 
town  and  countryside.  (Tic  takes  the  greatcoat  off  settle 
and  puts  it  on  liim)  Tell  me,  James  Moynihan,  is 
your  father  satisfied  with  the  settlement  that  Mairc's 
making  for  yourself  and  Anne? 


56  THE  FIDDLERS  HOUSE 

JAMES 

My  father  is  very  well  satisfied. 
conn  (going  towards  his  room) 

And  so  he  ought  to  be,  James  Moynihan. 
\_Goes  into  his  room. 

JAMES 

My  father  had  always  a  great  liking  for  Anne.    (Anne 
comes  out  of  the  other  room.    James  Moynihan  goes  to 
her)     May  you   never  think,   Anne,   that  you   made 
the  bad  choice  when  you  took  James  Moynihan. 
{They  sit  on  settle. 

ANNE 

Sure  I  was  never  fond  of  any  one  but  yourself. 

JAMES 

And  I  never  cared  for  any  one  after  I  saw  you. 

ANNE 

I  used  to  hear  that  you  were  fond  of  another  girl. 

JAMES 

I  was  fond  of  the  girl  that  used  to  be  in  the  newspaper 
shop  in  the  town. 

ANNE 

And  used  you  to  talk  with  her? 

JAMES 

The  elbows  were  worn  out  of  my  coat  with  leaning  on 
the  counter  to  talk  with  her.  But  she  married  a 
policeman  after  that.  He  was  a  friend  of  mine,  too. 
It  was  me  that  got  him  the  words  and  music  for 
"I'll  hang  my  harp  on  a  willow  tree"  —  a  song  that 
he  was  always  looking  for. 

ANNE 

Did  you  make  any  songs  about  the  girl? 

JAMES 

I  did  not. 


THE   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  57 

A  \  \  i : 
Oh,  James,  I'm  glad  of  that.     I'm  glad  you  made  no 
songs  about  her. 

JAMES 

Are  y.>u  content  to  marry  me  in  the  town  of  Axdagh, 
after  the  Feis,  as  Main'  wishes? 

a  N  N  i "- 

It  will  be  strange  to  be  married  in  Ardagh,  away  from 
the  people  I  know. 

JAMES 

It  will  be  lucky  getting  married  after  the  Feis. 

a  \  \  E 

James,   it's  a  great  trial  for  a  girl  to  face  marriage; 
but,  James,  I'm  very  fond  of  you. 
[James  hisses  lur. 

JAMES 

I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  them  writers  who  say 
that  the  Irish  girls  haven't  the  heart  for  love. 

ANNE 

Is  Maire  outside? 

JAMES 

She  went  out. 

ANNl ! 

It'-  a  wonder  that  Brian  MacConnell  isn't  here  before 

thi-. 

[Anne  rises.    Main  comes  in. 
\  \  \  E 

I-  there  no  one  coming  here? 
MAIRE 

There  i-  no  <>ne  on   the  road. 

A  \  \  i 

Brian  MacConnell  is  late  in  coming. 


58  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

\_Maire  comes  up  to  the  fire.  Anne  stands  with  her. 
James  goes  to  entrance,  and  remains  looking  out. 

MAIRE 

I  saw  Brian  yesterday. 

ANNE 

And  did  you  tell  him  that  you  were  going  at  the 
sunset? 

MAIRE 

I  told  him  we  were  going  in  the  evening. 

ANNE 

Maybe  you  were  distant  with  Brian? 

MAIRE 

He  looked  like  a  man  that  something  had  happened 
to.  Connor  Gilpatrick  came  up,  and  then  I  went 
away. 

\_Conn  Hourican  comes  out  of  room.     He  has  left  the 
greatcoat    in   room.      He    brings    the  fiddle    with   him. 
Maire  and  Anne  go  to  the  settle.     They  talk. 
james  (to  Conn) 

What  would  you  think  of  a  row  of  trees  planted  before 

the  door? 

\_Conn  leaves  fiddle  on  dresser,  and  comes  to  him. 

CONN 

They  might  be  very  becoming,  James. 

JAMES 

My  father  was  saying  that  the  front  looked  very  bare. 

CONN 

A  row  of  trees,  when  they'd  grow,  would  make  a 
great  difference. 

JAMES 

That's  what  my  father  was  saying. 
\_They  talk,  Conn  leaning  on  the  half-door. 


Till:   FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  59 

A  N  \  I 1 

I'm  glad  to  be  here.  It  would  be  very  strange  for 
me  i"  be  married,  and  in  another  house. 

MAI  UK 

I  was  thinking,  Anne,  thai  father  and  myself  oughl 

to  >tay  a  while  on  the  road,  till  you  and  James  get 
settled  here. 

ANNE 

Listen,  Maire.  James  says  that  he'll  be  giving  this 
place  back  to  you  after  a  while.  With  this  start  he'll 
be  able  to  gel  a  house  and  land  near  his  father's  place. 
He  has  fine  schemes  for  making  this  place  prosperous. 
James,  come  here.  (James  turns  from  door)  Come 
here,  James,  and  talk  with  Maire. 
[James  comes  to  girls,  leaving  Conn  looking  out.  Maire 
ri* 

JAMES 

I'll  make  a  path  down  to  the  road,  and,  with  a  row 
of  trees  before  the  door,  the  plaee  will  be  well  worth 
looking  at. 

MA  IKK 

We  won't  know  the  place  after  a  while. 
JAMES 

We  can  never  forget,  Maire,  that  it  is  to  you  that  we 
owe  the  plaee  and  the  start  in  life. 

MAIRE 

I  never  looked  on  the  place  as  my  own. 

And  now  thai  tin-  land  i>  in  Anne'-  name,  my  father 
will  be  glad  to  stock  the  place. 

MAIRE 

^*  on  have  all  our  will  of  the  place.    Father,  speak  to 

James  ami  tell  him  that  he  ha-  your  will  of  the  place. 


60  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

conn  (turning  from  door) 

Indeed  you  have,  James,  and  we're  overglad  to  have 
Anne  settled  with  a  steady  boy. 

JAMES 

Well,  long  life  to  you,  Conn;    and  may  the  man  of 
art  never  want  fame  nor  a  friend. 
conn  (going  to  dresser) 
Drink  to  that,  James. 
[He  takes  up  a  bottle  and  fills  two  glasses. 

JAMES 

I  never  touch  anything,  Conn;  but  if  Anne  won't 
think  bad  of  me,  I'll  drink  to  your  prosperity. 

ANNE 

I  won't  be  watching  you  at  all.     (She  goes  to  door. 
To  Maire)     I'm  going  down  the  road,  and  if  there's 
any  one  coming  here,  I'll  let  you  know. 
[Anne  goes  out.    James  takes  the  glass  from  Conn. 

JAMES 

Here's  to  the  fiddler,  first  of  all.    May  it  be  again  like 
in  the  days  of  Ireland's  glory,  when  the  men  of  art  had 
their  rights  and  their  dues. 
[He  drinks. 

CONN 

Long  life  to  yourself,  James  Moynihan.  (Conn 
drinks)  I  know  you  a  long  time  now,  and  I  know 
nothing  to  your  discredit.  You're  one  of  the  few 
people  here  that  are  to  my  liking.  Well,  if  I'm  noth- 
ing to  them,  they're  nothing  to  me.  I  lived  my  own 
life,  and  I  had  the  gift. 
james   (with  excitement) 

If  Anne  was  here,  I'd  drink  to  her.  I  must  go  after 
Anne.  May  she  never  repent  of  her  choice.  (He  goes 
to  the   door,  then  turns  round)     But  sure  I'm  forget-' 


THE    FIDDLERS   HOUSE  (51 

ting  the  jewel  of  them  all,  yourself,  Maire  Hourican. 
Long  may  you  reign  in  splendour  and  success,  and 
in  the  wish  of  your  heart.  [James  Moynihan  goes  <>ut. 

I  mi  Hourican  (iocs  back  to  the  door,  and  remains 
looking  out.    Moire  stands  at  fire. 

CON  \ 

It's  strange  to  be  looking  across  that  door,  and  the 
sun  .setting  for  our  journey.  xVnd  now  we're  letting 
the  place  go  out  of  our  hands.  Well,  Honor  Gilroy's 
hit  of  land  has  been  brought  to  a  great  many  people. 
[//<•  comes  down  to  dresser.  Maire  goes  up  to  window, 
and  remains  looking  out. 

CONN 

Is  there  any  one  coming  here,  Maire? 
MAIRE 

There  is  no  one  coming.  It's  no  wonder  James's 
father  thought  the  place  was  hare-looking. 

i  N 

Well,  the  hit  of  land  is  going  to  James,  and  I  was 
saying  that  it  has  been  brought  to  a  great  many 
pe  >ple. 

IMaire  takes  paper  out,  and  looks  at  it. 
conn 
What  paper  is  thai ,  Maire? 

MA  IKK 

It's  a  paper  thai  I  have  to  put  my  name  to.     (She 

and  sits  at  table)     There's  a   pen  and  ink   Dear 

your  hand  <>n  the  dresser,  and  you  might  give  them 

to    me.      It's  about    giving    this    place    t>»  Anne,   and 

James's  father  wants  my  name  on  the  paper. 

CON  \ 

Well,  i-n't  James's  father  the  councillor,  with  his 
paper  and  his  signing?      (He  brings  pen  and  ink  from 


62  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

dresser,  and  leaves  them  on  table.  Maire  makes  prepa- 
rations for  writing.  Conn  lights  candle  at  fire,  and 
brings  it  over  to  table)  And  does  that  give  the  place 
to  Anne  for  ever? 

MAIRE 

It  gives  it  to  herself.     (Maire  signs  the  paper  with  the 
slowness  of  one  unaccustomed  to  writing)     It  will  be  a 
great  change  for  us  when  we  come  back  to  this  place. 
conn  (going  to  chair  at  fire) 

It  will  be  a  great  change  for  you  and  me,  no  matter 
what  we  say. 

MAIRE 

And  now  that  James's  father  is  putting  stock  on  the 
land,  the  Moynihans  will  have  great  call  to  the  place. 

CONN 

Maire,  your  father  is  thinking  of  taking  to  the  road. 

MAIRE 

And  how  long  would  you  be  staying  on  the  roads? 

CONN 

Ah,  what  is  there  to  bring  me  back  to  this  country, 
Maire? 

MAIRE 

Sure  you're  not  thinking  of  going  on  the  roads  alto- 
gether? 

CONN 

The  road  for  the  fiddler. 

MAIRE 

Would  you  leave  the  shelter  and  the  settled  life? 
Would  you  go  on  the  road  by  yourself? 

CONN 

Anne  and  yourself  will  be  settled,  and  I'll  have  the 
years  before  me. 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  63 

UAK 

Thru  you'd  go  on  the  roads  by  yourself? 

Sure  I  did  it  before,  Maire. 

if  A  IKK 

Ah,  but  do  you  not  remember  the  prayers  thai  mother 
used  to  say  for  u>  to  get  some  shelter?  Do  you  not 
remember  how  proud  ami  glad  we  were  when  we 
come  by  a  place  of  our  own? 

The  shelter  was  for  Anne  and  yourself.  What  had 
I  to  do  with  il? 

klAIRE 

The  Moynihans  an-  not  the  sort  to  make  us  feel 
strangers  in  the  place. 

X)NN" 

The  place  was  your  own,  Maire,  and  you  gave  it  to 
your  sister  rather  than  see  her  waiting  years  and 
years. 

IAIBE 

I  came  to  give  it  to  her  after  I  saw  how  hard  I  was 
on  yourself. 

;onn 
Listen,  my  jewel,  even  if  the  Moynihans  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  place,  what  would  Conn  Hourican  the 
tiddler  be  doing  in  this  country? 

KAIRE 

Ah,  there  are  many  you  mighl  play  to;    there  are  lots 

that  know  about  music.    There's  Michael  Gilpatrick 

and  John   Molloy  — 
o\\ 
And  that's  all,  Maire. 


64  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

You  might  go  to  Flynn's  an  odd  time. 

CONN 

And  what  do  they  know  about  music  in  Flynn's? 
Young  Corney  Myles  was  up  there  a  while  ago,  and 
you'd  think,  from  what  the  men  said,  that  there  was 
never  the  like  of  Corney  for  playing,  and  the  boy  isn't 
three  years  at  the  fiddle. 

MAIRE 

Father,  stay  here  where  the  shelter  is. 

CONN 

Sure,  I'd  be  getting  ould,  and  staying  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  with  no  one  to  talk  to  me,  for  you'd  be  going 
to  a  place  of  your  own,  and  Anne,  after  a  while,  would 
have  too  much  to  mind. 

MAIRE 

The  people  here  are  kinder  than  you  think. 

CONN 

But  what  has  Conn  Hourican  to  do  with  them  any- 
how? The  very  greatest  were  glad  of  my  playing, 
and  were  proud  to  know  me. 

MAIRE 

I  know  that,  father. 

CONN 

Well,  one  is  always  meeting  new  life  upon  the  roads, 
and  I  want  to  spend  the  years  I  have  before  me  going 
from  place  to  place. 
maire  (going  to  him) 

If  you  took  to  the  roads,  I'd  think  I  ought  to  go  with 
you,  for  we  were  always  together. 

CONN 

Ah,  Maire,  there  are  some  that  would  keep  you  here. 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  65 

\i  \ii.r. 
1  >■>  you  know  who  would  keep  me  here? 

IONN 

Brian  MacConnell  is  very  loud  of  you. 
u.uki: 

Do  you  know  that,  father? 
ONN 
And  I  know  lliat  you  are  fond  of  Brian.     (There  is  no 
answer)      That,    my    jewel    ni.iy    have    luck    and    pros- 
perity.    (Goes  towards  room  door,  leaving  Moire  stand- 
ing there)     1*11  be  taking  this  fiddle,  Maire. 

UAIRE 

Oh,  are  we  going  on  the  roads? 
To  Ardagh,  Maire. 

HAIRE 

To  Ardagh. 

BONN 

I'll  go  up  now,  and  make  ready. 

\_IIe  takes  candle  <[ff  table,  and  goes  back  towards  room 

r. 
MM 

Oh,  what  do  I  know  about  Brian  MacConnell,  after 

all? 
CONN 

Brian  is  wild,  but  he  is  free-handed. 
IfAIRE 

Wild  and  free-handed!    Are  all  men  like  that?    Wild 
and  free-handed!     But  that's  not  the  aorl   ()f  man   I 

want  to  look  to  now. 

That's  nothing  to  Brian's  discredit. 


66  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


MAIRE 

Ah,  what  do  I  know  about  Brian  MacConnell,  except 
that  he's  a  man  of  quarrels  and  broken  words? 
[Conn   holds   up   his   hand   warningly.     Brian   Mac- 
Connell comes  to  door. 
conn  (opening  half-door) 
You're  welcome,  Brian. 

BRIAN 

Thank  you  for  the  good  word,  Conn. 
[He  comes  in. 

MAIRE 

You're  welcome,  Brian  MacConnell. 
conn  {talcing  candle  off  dresser) 

I  was  going  up  to  the  room  to  make  ready,  but  Maire 
will  be  glad  to  speak  to  you.    I  knew  you  wouldn't  let 
us  go  without  wishing  us  the  luck  of  the  road. 
[Goes  up  to  room.    Maire  goes  and  sits  on  settle. 

MAIRE 

Brian  MacConnell  has  come  to  us  again. 

BRIAN 

I'm  before  you  again.  Let  me  tell  you  what  I  was 
doing  since  I  was  here  last. 

MAIRE 

What  were  you  doing,  Brian?    Making  quarrels,  may 
be? 
brian  (startled) 

Why  do  you  say  that? 

MAIRE 

I'm  thinking  that  you  were  doing  what  would  become 
you,  Brian  MacConnell,  with  the  free  hand  and  the 
wild  heart. 

BRIAN 

They  were  telling  you  about  me? 


THE   FIDDLER'S   HOUSE  07 

\l  LIRE 

I   know    you,   Brian   Ma«(  'onnoll. 
BRIAN 

You  don't  know  how  I  care  for  y<>u,  or  you  couldn't 
talk  lo  me  like  that.  Many's  the  time  I  left  the  spav- 
in tin-  ground,  ami  went  across  the  bogs  and  the 
rushes,  to  think  of  you.  You  conic  between  mo  and 
the  work  I'd  1)0  doing.  Ay,  and  if  Heaven  opened 
out  before  me,  you  would  come  between  me  and 
Heaven  itself. 

ifAIRB 
[t's  easy  taking  a  girl's  heart. 

BRIAN 

And  I  long  to  have  more  than  walk  and  a  roof  to 
offer  you.  I'd  have  jewels  and  gold  for  you.  I'd 
have  ships  on  the  sea  for  you. 

,1  LIRE 

It'-*  easy  to  take  a  girl's  heart  with  the  words  of  a  song. 

IRIAN 

I'm  building  a  house  for  you,  Maire.     I'm  raising  it 
day  by  day. 
(AIRE 

You  lefl  me  long  by  myself. 

IRIAN 

[t's  often  I  came  to  see  the  light  in  the  window. 

[AIRE 

Brian,  my  father  wants  to  go  back  to  the  roads. 
{Brian  goes  and  sits  by  her. 

KR]  LN 

I  know  that  Conn  would  like  to  go  back. 

1AII 

He  wants  to  go  on  tl  is,  to  go  by  himself  from 

place  to  place. 


68  THE  FIDDLERS  HOUSE 

BRIAN 

Maybe  he  has  the  right  to  go. 

MAIRE 

He  has  the  right  to  go.  It's  the  life  of  a  fiddler  to 
be  on  the  roads. 

BRIAN 

But  you  won't  go  on  the  roads. 

MAIRE 

Oh,  what  am  I  to  do,  Brian? 

BRIAN 

Do  you  think  of  me  at  all,  Maire? 

MAIRE 

Indeed  I  think  of  you.  Until  to-day  I'd  neither 
laugh  nor  cry  but  on  account  of  you. 

BRIAN 

I'm  building  a  house,  and  it  will  be  white  and  fine,  and 
it's  for  you  that  I'm  building  the  house. 

MAIRE 

You're  going  to  ask  for  my  promise. 

BRIAN 

Give  me  your  promise  before  you  go  to  Ardagh. 
[Maire  rises. 

MAIRE 

If  I  gave  you  my  promise  now,  I'd  have  great  delight 
in  coming  back  to  this  place  again. 

BRIAN 

You  won't  deny  me,  my  jewel  of  love? 

MAIRE 

Oh,  I'm  very  fond  of  Aughnalee.  I  feel  that  I  was 
reared  in  the  place.  I'd  like  to  live  all  my  life  in  the 
place. 

BRIAN 

And  why  would  you  go  from  it? 


THE  PEDDLER'S  HOUSE  69 

ma  mi: 

You  might  come  with  us  to  Ardagh,  Brian. 

BR]  AN 

Your  father  might  stay  with  us  wheu  he'd  be  in  this 

country. 
maiki: 

That'-  true;    I'm  glad  to  think  on  that. 

BRIAN 

Give  me  your  promise,  Maire. 

maiki: 
We'll  talk  on  the  road.     There's  the  blackbird.     I'll 
hear  him   every  evening  on  the  road,  and  I'll  think 
I'm  a  day  nearer  home. 

BRIAN 

Sure  you'd  leave  them  all  to  come  with  me. 

M  WRE 

Ay.  I  think  I  would.  (She  takes  up  a  new  kerchief,  and 
puts  it  on  her,  standing  before  the  mirror)  Do  you 
know  where  1  saw  you  first,  Brian? 

BRIAN 

Where  was  it,  Maire? 

MAIRE 

In  a  field  by  the  road.    You  were  breaking  a  horse. 
BR]  \N 

I  was  always  a  good  hand  with  a  hors 

M  USE 

The  poor  beasl  was  covered  with  foam  ami  sweat, 
and  at  last  you  made  it  still.  I  thought  it  was  grand 
then. 

[She  sings. 

I  know  where  I'm  going, 

I  know  who's  going  with  me, 


70  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


I  know  who  I  love, 
But  the  dear  knows  who  I'll  marry. 
Are  your  brothers  with  you,  Brian? 

BRIAN 

Is  it  building  with  me? 

MAIRE 

Building  with  you? 
[She  sings. 

Some  say  he's  dark, 

I  say  he's  bonny. 

He's  the  flower  of  the  flock, 

My  charming,  coaxing  Johnny. 
BRIAN  (with  sombre  passion) 

No.    My  brothers  are  not  with  me.     I  quarrelled  with 
them  all  and  I  am  nearly  heart  broken  for  what  I  did. 

MAIRE 

Ah,  Brian  MacConnell,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 
you  at  all. 

BRIAN 

You'll  give  me  your  promise,  Maire? 

MAIRE 

Promise.    I've  no  promise  to  give  to  any  man. 

BRIAN 

Remember  that  these  days  past  I  had  only  yourself 
to  think  on. 

MAIRE 

There  was  never  a  man  but  failed  me  some  time. 
They  all  leave  me  to  face  the  world  alone. 

BRIAN 

You  said  that  I  might  go  with  you  as  far  as  Ardagh. 

MAIRE 

No.    You're  not  to  come.     Myself  and  my  father  go 
to  Ardagh  by  ourselves. 


THE  FIDDLER'S   HOUSE  71 

BBl  \N 

How     was    I    to    know     thai     you     would     lake     llial 

quarrel  to  heart? 

MAIKK 

I  thoughl   you  were  strong,  bul   I  see  now  tliaL  you 
arc  only  a  man  who  forces  himself  to  harsh  behaviour. 
I  have  my  own  way  to  go;    my  father  wauls  to 
l>a<k   to  the  roads,  and  it's  right  thai  1  should  l>e 
with  him,  to  watch  over  him. 

BRIAN 

What  shelter  will  you  have  on  the  road? 

MAIKK 

I'll  have  the  quiet  of  evening,  and  my  own  thoughts, 

and  I'll  follow  the  music;    I'll  laugh  aud  hold  up  my 
head  again. 

BRIAN 

Maire  Hourican,  would  you  leave  me? 

maiwi: 

What  can  I  do  for  you,  Brian  MacConnell? 

{Brian  goes  to  settle,  and  puts  his  hands  before  his  eyes. 

She  goes  to  him. 

BRIAN 

You  have  thought  for  your  father,  and  you  have  no 
thought  for  me. 
maiim; 

Indeed  I  have  thought  for  you. 

BRIAN 

()  Main-,  my  j<wcl,  do  you  care  for  me  at  all? 
{She  kisses  him. 

BRIAN 

Maire! 

{She  rises. 


72  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

I'm  going  to  call  my  father. 

BRIAN 

You  go  to  him,  and  you  go  from  me. 

MAIRE 

You  are  both  my  care:  my  father  and  yourself. 

BRIAN 

What  will  become  of  me  when  you  go? 

MAIRE 

Isn't  it  right,  Brian,  that  I  should  be  with  my  father 
on  the  roads?  Even  if  I  was  in  your  house,  I  would 
be  thinking  that  I  should  watch  over  him. 

BRIAN 

Then  it's  good-bye  you'd  be  saying? 

MAIRE 

Good-bye,  Brian  MacConnell. 

brian  (at  door) 

Good-bye,  Maire  Hourican;  gold  and  jewels,  ships 
on  the  sea,  may  you  have  them  all. 
{He  goes  out.  With  a  cry  Maire  follows  him  to  the 
door.  She  stands  before  door  for  a  minute,  then  she 
goes  back  to  table,  and  throwing  herself  down,  remains 
with  her  head  buried  in  her  hands.  James  Moynihan 
comes  in.  Maire  raises  her  head,  and  remains  looking 
before  her.  James  comes  to  table,  and  -puts  flowers 
beside  Maire. 

JAMES 

We  gathered  them  for  you,  Maire.  They're  the 
woodbine.  We  were  saying  that  you  would  be  glad 
of  the  flower  of  the  road.  (Maire  puts  her  hand  on 
the  flowers.  James  goes  to  the  fire)  Anne  remembers 
a  good  deal  about  the  road.    She  minds  of  the  grassy 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  73 


ditches,  where  the  two  of  you  used  to  catch  the  young 
birds. 

M  \n;i; 

I  mind  of  them  too. 

JAM  IS 

And  the  women  thai  used  to  be  with  your  mother, 
that  used  to  tell  you  the  stories. 

And  the  things  we  used  to  talk  about  after  a  story! 
There's  the  turn  of  the  road,  and  who's  waiting  for 
y.>u?  It'  it's  your  sweetheart,  what  will  you  say  to 
him? 

JAMES 

I'm  often  taken  with  the  thought  of  the  road!  doing 
to  the  fair  on  a  bright  morning,  I'd  often  wish  to 
leave  everything  aside  and  follow  the  road. 
[A  fiddle  is  heard  outride.  Conn  Hourican  comes  down, 
dressed  for  the  road.  He  has  on  the  greatcoat.  He  carries 
fiddle.     He  puts  fiddle  on  dresser. 

CON  \ 

What  music  is  that,  James? 

JAMES 

Some  of  the  boys  are  coming  to  meet  you,  and  they 

have  a  fiddle  with  them. 
con  \ 

Well,  now,  that's  friendly  of  the  boys. 
JAMES 

I'll  go  out  now,  and  let  them  know  that  you're  coming. 

(///     goes    to    door)      Brian    MacConnell    turned    the 

Other  way,  and  Anne  went  after  him. 

[He  goes  <>ut. 
conn  {anxiously) 

Why  did  Brian   MaeConnell  go  away? 


74  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 


MAIRE 

We  didn't  agree;   no,  not  after  all  you  said. 

CONN 

Maybe  we'll  see  Brian  at  Ardagh. 

MAIRE 

How  would  he  ever  come  back  when  I  bid  him  go 
from  me? 

CONN 

You  bid  Brian  go  from  you!     {He  goes  to  the  window) 
And  there  was  myself  that  had  the  mind  to  go  on  the 
road  that  I  see  stretched  out  before  me. 
Maire  {going  to  him) 

You  need  never  come  back  here. 

CONN 

I'll  come  back  with  yourself. 

MAIRE 

I  remember  the  time  when  we  were  on  the  roads.  I 
remember  sights  we  used  to  see!  Little  towns  here, 
and  big  towns  far  away,  and  always  the  road. 

CONN 

And  the  lasting  kindness  of  the  road! 

MAIRE 

There  is  no  need  for  you  to  come  back  here,  father. 

CONN 

And  would  you  follow  the  road? 

MAIRE 

Go  back  to  the  fiddler's  life,  and  I'll  go  back  with 
you.  We'll  see  Anne  and  James  at  Ardagh,  and  we'll 
be  at  their  marriage.  (She  turns  round  as  though  to 
take  farewell  of  the  house)  It's  right  that  this  place 
should  go  to  Anne.  The  house  wasn't  for  you,  and 
it  wasn't  for  me  either,  I  begin  to  think. 
\_Anne  comes  in. 


THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE  75 

annb  ( with  a  cry) 

Mai iv,  you  are  going  on  the  roads! 

MA  IKK 

How  do  you  know  that? 

A  \  NE 

You  bid  Brian  MacConnell  go  from  you,  and  where 
els(>  would  you  go  hul  on  the  roads? 
J[She  goes  to  the  .settle  and  throws  herself  down,  her 
hands  before  her  face.  Maire  puts  cloak  on.  Conn 
goes  to  Anne,  lie  takes  her  hands  from  her  face  and 
holds  them. 

CONN 

Don't  be  grieving  that  we're  going  from  you,  Anne. 
Winn  you  come  back  here  again,  your  own  care  will 
begin.  I  know  that  you  grieve  for  Maire  going  from 
you,  and  my  own  heart  is  unquiet  for  her.  (He  goes 
{.)  dresser,  takes  fiddle  and  wraps  it  up.  He  puts  hat  on. 
Maire  goes  to  settle,  and  sits  beside  Anne)  Well,  here's 
Conn  Hourican  the  fiddler  going  on  his  travels  again. 
No  man  knows  how  his  own  life  will  end;  but  them 
who  have  the  gifl  have  to  follow  the  gift.  I'm  leaving 
this  house  behind  me;  and  maybe  the  time  will  come 
when  I'll  be  climbing  the  hills  and  seeing  this  little 
house  with  the  tears  in  my  eyes.  I'm  Leaving  the 
land  behind  me,  too;  but  what 's  land  after  all  against 
the  music  that  comes  from  the  far,  strange  places, 
when  the  night  i^  on  the  ground,  and  the  bird  in  the 
grass  is  quiet? 

[The  fiddle    is    heard    again.  Conn  Hourican    goes    to 

door.      Maire  embraces   Anne  again,  rises   and  goes  to 

door.  Anne  fo[lmrs  slouli/.  Conn  goes  out.  Maire 
turns  !■>  Anne. 


76  THE  FIDDLER'S  HOUSE 

MAIRE 

Tell   Brian   MacConnell   that   when   we   meet   again 
maybe  we  can  be  kinder  to  each  other. 
\Maire  Hourican   goes   out  with   Conn.     Anne  is  left 
standing  at  the  door  in  the  dusk. 

END    OF    PLAY 


The  Fiddler's  House  was  first  produced  on  21st 
March,  1007,  by  the  Theatre  of  Ireland,  in  the  Rotunda, 
Dublin,  with  the  following  cast:  — 

Conn  Hourican Joseph  Goggin 

M  aire  Hourican Maire  NicShiubhlaigh 

Anne  Hourican Eileen  O'Doherty 

Brian  MacConnell Ed.  Keegan 

James  Moyniuan P.  MacSiubhlaigh 


THE  LAND:  AN  AGRARIAN 
COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 

Muetaqh  Cosgar,  a  farmer 
Matt,  his  son 
Salia,  his  daughter 
Martin  Doubas,  a  farmer 
Cornelius,  his  son 
Ellen,  his  daughter 
A  group  of  men 
A  group  of  boys  and  girls 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  Irish  Midlands,  present  time. 


ACT  I 

The  inferior  of  Muriagh  Cosgar's.  It  is  a  large  flagged 
kitchen  with  the  entrance  on  the  right.  The  dresser  is 
below  the  entrance.  There  is  a  large  fireplace  in  the  bach, 
and  a  room  door  to  the  left  of  the  fireplace;  the  harness- 
rack  is  between  room  door  and  fireplace.  The  yard  door 
is  on  the  left.  The  table  is  down  from  the  room  door. 
There  are  benches  around  fireplace. 

It  is  the  afternoon  of  a  May  day.  Sally  Cos-gar  is 
hurtling  near  the  entrance  chopping  up  cahbuge-lcavcs 
with  a  hitchen-hnife.  She  is  a  girl  of  tirenfy-five,  dark, 
heavily  built,  with  the  expression  of  a  half-awahcm  d 
creature.  She  is  coarsely  dressed,  and  has  a  sacking 
apron.  She  is  quick  at  work,  and  rapid  and  impetuous 
in  speech.    She  is  talking  to  herself. 

BALLY 

Oli.  you  may  go  on  grunting,  yourself  and  your  litter, 
it  won't  put  me  a  l>it  pasl  my  own  time.  You  oul' 
black  baste  «>t'  a  sow,  sure  I'm  slaving  to  you  all  the 
spring.  We'll  be  getting  rid  of  yourself  and  your 
litter  soon  enough,  and  may  the  devil  get  you  when 
we  lose  you. 

[Cornelius  comes  to  the  door,  lie  is  a  fall  young  man 
with  a  slight  stoop.  His  manners  are  solemn,  and  his 
expression  somewhat  vacant. 

cormi.m  ra 

Good  morrow,  Sally.  May  you  have  the  good  of  the 
day.     [He  comes  in) 


84  THE  LAND 


Sally  (impetuously) 

Ah,  God  reward  you,  Cornelius  Douras,  for  coming 
in.  I'm  that  busy  keeping  food  to  a  sow  and  a  litter 
of  pigs  that  I  couldn't  get  beyond  the  gate  to  see 
any  one. 

Cornelius  (solemnly) 

You're  a  good  girl,  Sally.  You're  not  like  some  I 
know.  There  are  girls  in  this  parish  who  never  put 
hands  to  a  thing  till  evening,  when  the  boys  do  be 
coming  in.  Then  they  begin  to  stir  themselves  the 
way  they'll  be  thought  busy  and  good  about  a  house. 

sally  (pleased  and  beginning  to  chop  again  with  renewed 
energy) 

Oh,  it's  true  indeed  for  you,  Cornelius.  There  are 
girls  that  be  decking  themselves,  and  sporting  are 
themselves  all  day. 

CORNELIUS 

I  may  say  that  I  come  over  to  your  father's,  Murtagh 
Cosgar's  house,  this  morning,  thinking  to  meet  the 
men. 

SALLY 

1    What  men,  Cornelius  Douras? 

CORNELIUS 

Them  that  are  going  to  meet  the  landlord's  people 
with  an  offer  for  the  land.  We're  not  buying  ourselves, 
unfortunately,  but  this  is  a  great  day  —  the  day  of 
the  redemption,  my  father  calls  it  —  and  I'd  like  to 
have  some  hand  in  the  work  if  it  was  only  to  say  a 
few  words  to  the  men. 

SALLY 

It's  a  wonder  Martin,  your  father  isn't  on  the  one 
errand  with  you. 


11 1 1:   LAM)  85 


OOBNELH  - 

We  came  out  together,  hut  the  pries!  stopped  father 
and  us  on  the  road.  Father  Bartley  wanted  his 
advice,  I  suppose.  Ah.  it's  a  pity  the  men  won't  have 
some  one  like  my  father  with  them!  He  was  in  gaol 
for  the  Cause.  Besides,  he's  a  well-discoursed  man, 
and  a  reading  man,  and,  moreover,  a  man  with  a 
classical  knowledge  of  English,  Latin,  and  the  Hiber- 
nian vernacular. 

[Martin  Douras  comes  in.  lie  is  a  man  of  about  sixty, 
with  a  refined,  scholarly  look.  His  manner  is  subdued 
and  nervous.     lit   has  a  Stoop,  and  is  clean-shaven. 

GOBNELD  - 

I  was  just  telling  Sally  here  what  a  great  day  it  is, 
father. 

MARTIN    DOUBAS 

Ay,  it's  a  greal  day,  no  matter  what  our  own  troubles 
may  be.    I  should  he  going  home  again.     {He  takes  a 

newspaper  out  of  his  packet,  and  leaves  it  on  the  table) 
CORNELIUS 

Wait  for  the  men,  father. 
MAKTIN    DOUBAS 

Mayhe  they'll  be  here  soon.     Is  Murtagh  in,  Sally? 

[Cornelius  takes  the  paper  up,  and  begins  to  read  it. 
B  m.i.v 

lie's  down  at  the  bottoms,  Martin. 

MAKTIN    I)(H   HAS 

He's  going  to  Arvach  Fair,  maybe. 
BALLY 

He  is  in  troth. 

MARTIN    DOUBAS 

I'll  he  asking  him  for  a  lift.  He'll  be  going  to  tin- 
Fair  when  he  come  hack  from  the  lawyer's,  I  suppose? 


86  THE  LAND 


SALLY 

Ay,  he'll  be  going  to-night. 

(She  gathers  the  chopped  cabbage  into  her  apron,  and 
goes  to  the  door) 
sally  (at  the  door) 
Cornelius. 

[Cornelius  puts  down  the  paper,  and  goes  to  the  door. 
Sally  goes  out. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

Cornelius! 

[Cornelius  goes  to  Martin. 
sally  (outside) 

Cornelius,  give  me  a  hand  with  this. 
[Cornelius  turns  again. 

MARTIN   DOURAS 

Cornelius,  I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
[Cornelius  goes  to  him. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

There  is  something  on  my  mind,  Cornelius. 

CORNELIUS 

What  is  it,  father? 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

It's  about  our  Ellen.  Father  Bartley  gave  me  news 
for  her.  "I've  heard  of  a  school  that'll  suit  Ellen," 
says  he.     "It's  in  the  County  Leitrim." 

CORNELIUS 

If  it  was  in  Dublin  itself,  Ellen  is  qualified  to  take  it 
on.    And  won't  it  be  grand  to  have  one  of  our  family 
teaching  in  a  school? 
martin  douras  (with  a  sigh) 

I  wouldn't  stand  in  her  way,  Cornelius;  I  wouldn't 
stand  in  her  way.  But  won't  it  be  a  poor  thing  for 
an  old  man  like  me  to  have  no  one  to  discourse  with 


THE   LAND  S7 


in  the  long  evenings?  For  when  I'm  talking  with 
you,  Cornelius,  I  feel  like  a  boy  who  lends  back  ;ill 
the  marbles  he's  won,  and  plays  again,  just  lor  the 
Bake  of  the  game. 

n  a 
We  were  in  dread  of  Ellen  going  to  America  at  one 
time,  and  then  she  went  in  for  the  school.  Now  Matt 
Cosgar  may  keep  her  from  the  school.  Maybe  we 
won't  have  to  go  further  than  this  house  to  see  Ellen. 
M  \KTIN    DOTJB 

I'm  hoping  it'll  be  like  that;  but  I'm  in  dread  that 
Murtagh  Cosgar  will  never  airree  to  it.  He's  a  hard 
man  to  deal  with.  Still  Murtagh  and  myself  will  be 
on  the  long  road  to-night,  and  we  might  talk  of  it. 
I'm  afeard  of  Ellen  going. 
CORNi'.i.n  S  (at  the  door) 

It's  herself  that's  coming  here,  father. 

HASTEN    DOETBAS 

Maybe  she  has  heard  the  news  and  is  coming  to  tell  us. 
{EUen  comes  in.    She  has  a  shawl  over  her  hunt  which 

.she  lays  i  She  is  about  twenty-five,  slightly  built, 

nervou  r,  emotional. 

BLL 

I-  it  only  ourselves  that's  here? 

HASTEN    DOI  ftAS 

Only  ourselves.  Did  you  get  any  news  to  bring  you 
over.  Ellen? 

ELI 

No  i      s.     It  was  the  -lii nt-  of  the  day  that  brought 

me  out;  and  I  was  thinking,  too,  of  the  girl-  that 
are  going  to  America  in   the  morning,  and  that  made 

nir  restless. 

[Martin  and  Cornelius  look  significantly  at  each  other. 


88  THE  LAND 


MARTIN    DOURAS 

And  did  you  see  Matt,  Ellen? 

ELLEN 

He  was  in  the  field  and  I  coming  up;  but  I  did  not 
wait  for  him,  as  I  don't  want  people  to  see  us  together. 
(Restlessly)  I  don't  know  how  I  can  come  into  this 
house,  for  it's  always  like  Murtagh  Cosgar.  There's 
nothing  of  Matt  in  it  at  all.  If  Matt  would  come 
away.  There  are  little  labourers'  houses  by  the  side 
of  the  road.  Many's  the  farmer's  son  became  a 
labourer  for  the  sake  of  a  woman  he  cared  for! 

CORNELIUS 

And  are  you  not  thinking  about  the  school  at  all, 
Ellen? 

ELLEN 

I'll  hear  about  it  some  time,  I  suppose. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

You're  right  to  take  it  that  way,  Ellen.  School 
doesn't  mean  scholarship  now.  Many's  the  time 
I'm  telling  Cornelius  that  a  man  farming  the  land, 
with  a  few  books  on  his  shelf  and  a  few  books  in  his 
head,  has  more  of  the  scholar's  life  about  him  than 
the  young  fellows  who  do  be  teaching  in  schools  and 
teaching  in  colleges. 

CORNELIUS 

That's  all  very  well,  father.  School  and  scholarship 
isn't  the  one.  But  think  of  the  word  "  Constantinople ! " 
I  could  leave  off  herding  and  digging  every  time  I 
think  on  that  word! 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

Ah,  it's  a  great  word.  A  word  like  that  would  make 
you  think  for  days.  And  there  are  many  words  like 
that. 


THE   LAM)  89 


ELLEN 

It's  not  so  much  the  long  words  thai  we've  to  learn 

and  teach  now.  When  will  you  be  home,  father? 
Will  Cornelius  l>e  with  you? 

MARTIN    DOURA8 

Ellen,  I  have  news  for  you.  There  is  a  school  in 
Leitrim  thai   Father  Hartley  can  let  you  have. 

ELLEN 

In  Leitrim!     Did  you  tell  Matt  about  it? 
MARTIN    DOUBA8 

I  did  not. 

[Sally  is  heard  calling  "Cornelius."     Cornelius  goes  to 

the  door. 

CORNELIUS 

Here's  Matt  now.  The  benefit  of  the  day  to  you,  Matt. 
\Jlc  stands  aside  to  let  Matt  enter.  Matt  Cosgar  is  a 
young  peasant  of  about  twenty-eight.  He  is  handsome 
an  I  irell-huilt.  He  is  dressed  in  a  trousers,  shirt,  and 
coat,  and  has  a  felt  hat  on.     Cornelius  goes  out. 

m  \tt  (going  to  Ellen) 
You're  welcome,   Ellen.     Good  morrow,  Martin.     It's 
;i  ureal  day  for  the  purchase,  Martin. 

mvutin    DOUBAS 

A  great  day,  indeed,  thank  God. 

MATT 

Ah.  it'-  a  greal  thing  to  feel  the  ownership  of  the  land, 

Martin. 
M  \KTIN    DOI  i:  IB 

I  don't  doubt  but  it  is. 

MATT 

Look  at  the  young  apple-trees,  Ellen.  Walking  up  this 
morning,  I  felt  as  glad  of  them  as  a  young  man  would 
be  glad  of  the  sweetheart  he  saw  coming  towards  him. 


90  THE  LAND 


ELLEN 

Ay,  there's  great  gladness  and  shine  in  the  day. 

MATT 

It  seems  to  trouble  you. 

ELLEN 

It  does  trouble  me. 

MATT 

Why? 

ELLEN 

Everything  seems  to  be  saying,  "There's  something 
here,  there's  something  going." 

MATT 

Ay,  a  day  like  this  often  makes  you  feel  that  way. 
It's  a  great  day  for  the  purchase  though.    How  many 
years  ought  we  to  offer,  Ellen? 
\_Martin  goes  out. 

ELLEN 

Twenty  years,  I  suppose —  (suddenly)  Matt! 

MATT 

What  is  it,  Ellen? 

ELLEN 

I  have  got  an  offer  of  a  school  in  the  County  Leitrim. 

MATT 

I  wish  they'd  wait,  Ellen.  I  wish  they'd  wait  till  I 
had  something  to  offer  you. 

ELLEN 

I'm  a  long  time  waiting  here,  Matt. 

MATT 

Sure  we're  both  young. 

ELLEN 

This  is  summer  now.  There  will  be  autumn  in  a 
month  or  two.  The  year  will  have  gone  by  without 
bringing  me  anything. 


THE   LAND  fll 


MATT 

He'll  be  letting  me  have  my  own  way  soon,  my  father 
will. 
ELLEN 

Murtagh  Cosgar  never  let  a  child  of  his  have  their 

own  way. 

MATT 

When  the  land's  bought  out,  he'll  be  easier  to  deal 
with. 

ELLKN 

When  he  owns  the  land,  he'll  never  let  a  son  of  his 
marry  a  girl  without  land  or  fortune. 

M  \TT 

Ellen,  Ellen,  I'd  lose  house  anil  land  for  you.  Sure 
you  know  that,  Ellen.  My  brothers  and  sisters  took 
their  freedom.  They  went  from  this  house  and  away 
to  the  ends  of  the  world.  Maybe  I  don't  differ  from 
them  so  much.  But  I've  put  my  work  into  the  land, 
and  I'm  beginning  to  know  the  land.  I  won't  lose  it, 
Ellen.  Neither  will  I  lose  you. 
ELLEN 

0  Matt,  what's  the  land  after  all?    Do  you  ever  think 
of  America?    The  streets,  the  shops,  the  throngs? 

MATT 

The  land  is  belter  than  that  when  you  come  to  know 
it.  Ellen. 
ELLEN 

May  be  it    is. 
M  \TT 

Fve  sel  my  heart  on  a  new  house.    Ay  ami  he'll  build 
one  for  us  when  he  knows  my  mind. 
ELLEN 

Do  you  think  he'd  build  a  new  house  for  us,  Matt? 


m  THE  LAND 


I  could  settle  down  if  we  were  by  ourselves.  Maybe 
it's  true  that  there  are  things  stirring  and  we  could 
begin  a  new  life,  even  here. 

MATT 

We  can,  Ellen,  we  can.  Hush!  father's  without. 
\_Martin  Douras  and  Murtagh  Cosgar  are  heard  ex- 
changing greetings.  Then  Murtagh  comes  in,  Martin 
behind  him.  Murtagh  Cosgar  is  about  sixty.  He  is  a 
hard,  strong  man,  seldom-spoken,  but  with  a  flow  of 
words  and  some  satirical  power.  He  is  still  powerful, 
mentally  and  physically.  He  is  clean  shaven,  and  wears 
a  sleeved  waistcoat,  heavy  boots,  felt  hat.  He  goes  towards 
Ellen. 

MURTAGH 

Good  morrow  to  you.  (Turning  to  Matt)  When  I 
get  speaking  to  that  Sally  again,  she'll  remember  what 
I  say.  Giving  cabbage  to  the  pigs,  and  all  the  bad 
potatoes  in  the  house.  And  I  had  to  get  up  in  the 
clouds  of  the  night  to  turn  the  cows  out  of  the  young 
meadow.  No  thought,  no  care  about  me.  Let  you 
take  the  harness  outside  and  put  a  thong  where 
there's  a  strain  in  it. 

[Murtagh  goes  to  the  fire.  Matt  goes  to  the  harness-rack. 
Martin  Douras  and  Ellen  are  at  the  door. 

MARTIN   DOURAS 

Ellen,  I'll  have  news  for  you  when  I  see  you  again. 
I've  made  up  my  mind  to  that. 

ELLEN 

Are  you  going  to  the  fair,  father? 

MARTIN   DOURAS 

Ay,  with  Murtagh. 

ELLEN 

God  be  with  you,  father.     (She  goes  out) 


THE   LAM)  93 


MARTIN   DOURAfl 

What  purchase  arc  you  thinking  of  offering,  Murtagh? 

IfDBTAGB    OOSG Alt 

Twenty  years. 

MARTIN"    l)i  > I  EtAS 

It's  fair  enough.    Oh,  it's  a  great  day  for  the  country, 
no  matter  what  our  own  troubles  may  be. 
[Matt  has  taken  down  the  harness.    lie  talcc.s  .some  of  it 
up  and  goes  out  to  yard. 
murtagh  COSGAB  (with  some  contempt) 

It's  a  pity  you  haven't  a  share  in  the  day  after  all. 

MARTIN    DOUR  AS 

Ay,  it's  a  pity  indeed. 
[Murtagh  (iocs  to  the  door. 
mirtagu  cosgar  (with  suppressed  enthusiasm) 
From  this  day  out  we're  planted  in  the  soil. 

MARTIN    DOUEAS 

Ay.  we're  planted  in  the  soil. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

God,  it's  a  great  day. 
[Cornelius  comes  back. 

CORNELIUS 

This  is  a  memorial  occasion,  Murtagh  Cosgar,  and  I 
wish  you  the  felicitations  of  it.  I  met  the  delegates 
and  I  coming  in,  and  I  put  myself  at  tin-  head  ol  them. 
It's  the  day  of  the  redemption,  Murtagh  Cosgar. 
[Murtagh,  without  .speaking,  goes  up  to  the  room  left. 
CORNELIUS 

He's  gone  up  to  get  the  papers.     Father,   we   inu^l 
give  the  men  understanding  for  this  business.    They 
must   demand    the    mineral    rights.     Here   they   are. 
Men   of    Ballykillduir,    I    greet   your   entrance. 
[Six  men  enter  discussing. 


94  THE  LAND 


FIRST   MAN 

We'll  leave  it  to  Murtagh  Cosgar.  Murtagh  Cosgar 
isn't  a  grazier  or  a  shopkeeper. 

SECOND   MAN 

It's,  the  graziers  and  shopkeepers  that  are  putting  a 
business  head  on  this. 

THIRD    MAN 

If  we're  all  on  the  one  offer,  we  can  settle  it  at  the 
lawyer's. 

FOURTH   MAN 

Sure  it's  settled  for  twenty  years  on  the  first-term 
rents. 

FIFTH   MAN 

There  are  some  here  that  would  let  it  go  as  high  as 
twenty-three. 

SIXTH   MAN 

What  does  Murtagh  Cosgar  say? 

SOME   OF   THE   MEN 

We'll  take  the  word  from  him. 

MARTIN   DOURAS 

He  mentioned  twenty  years. 

SECOND   MAN 

Not  as  a  limit,  surely? 

OTHER   MEN 

We're  not  for  any  higher  offer. 

SECOND   MAN 

Well,  men,  this  is  all  I  have  to  say.  If  you  can  get 
it  for  twenty,  take  it,  and  my  blessing  with  it.  But 
I  want  to  be  dealing  with  the  Government,  and  not 
with  landlords  and  agents.  To  have  a  straight  bar- 
gain between  myself  and  the  Government,  I'd  put  it 
up  to  twenty-three,  ay,  up  to  twenty-five  years' 
purchase. 


THE   LAND  95 


TIIIKI)    MAN 

Mote  power  l<»  you,  Councillor.    There's  some  sens 

in  thai. 

SIXTH    mw 

I'm  with  the  Councillor. 

IT    M  \N 

It's    all    very    well    for    graziers    and    shopkeepers    to 
talk,  lmt  what  about  the  small  farmer? 
RTH    MAN 

The  small  farmer.    That's  the  man  that  goes  under. 
FIFTH  man  (knocking  at  the  tablt 
Murtagh  Cosgar!    Murtagh  Cosgar! 

M.1.1I   S 

I  tell  you,  men,  that  Murtagh  Cosgar  i-  in  agreement 

with    myself.     Twenty   years,   I   say,   first   term,   no 

mure.     Let  my  father  speak. 
MARTIN    DOTJBA8 

Tin  re's  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on  both  sides,  men. 
FIRST    MAN 

Here's  Murtagh  now. 

Mi  BTAGH    '  <  ■-«.  \H 

Twenty  years  first  term,  that's  what  I  agreed  to. 

•  NI)    MAN 

And  if  they  don't  rise  to  that,  Murtagh? 

Ml  BTAGB    ( 06GAB 

Let  them  wait.     We  can  wait.     I  won't   be  going  with 
you,  men.     I  had  a  few  words  with  the  agent  about 
the  turbary   this   morning,   and   maybe  you're  better 
without  me. 
FIRST    M  \N 

All  right,  Murtagh.    We  can  wait. 

POI  RTH    M  \N 

We  know  our  own  power  now. 


96  THE  LAND 


FIFTH    MAN 

Come  on,  men. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

If  they  don't  rise  to  it,  bide  a  while.  We  can  make  a 
new  offer. 

SECOND   MAN 

We  want  to  be  settled  by  the  Fall. 

THIRD    MAN 

The  Councillor  is  right.  We  must  be  settled  by  the 
Fall. 

SIXTH   MAN 

A  man  who's  a  farmer  only  has  little  sense  for  a 
business  like  this. 

SECOND  MAN 

We'll  make  the  offer,  Murtagh  Cosgar,  and  bide  a 
while.  But  we  must  be  settled  this  side  of  the  Fall. 
We'll  offer  twenty  years  first  term. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Do,  and  God  speed  you. 

Cornelius  (to  the  men  going  out) 

I  told  you  Murtagh  Cosgar  and  myself  are  on  the 

one    offer.     And   Murtagh   is   right   again   when   he 

says  that  you  can  bide  your  time.    But  make  sure 

of  the  mineral  rights,  men;  make  sure  of  the  mineral 

rights. 

\_The  men  go  out;   Cornelius  follows  them. 

murtagh  cosgar  (with  irony) 

Musha,  but  that's  a  well-discoursed  lad.  It  must  be 
great  to  hear  the  two  of  you  at  it. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

God  be  good  to  Cornelius.  There's  little  of  the  world's 
harm  in  the  boy. 


THE    LAND  07 


MURTAGII    COBGAB 

He  and  my  Sally   would  make  a  great   match  of  it. 

She's  a  bright  one,  too. 
MARTIN    DOUBAfl 

Murtagh  Cosgar,  have  you  no  feeling  for  your  own 
flesh  and  blood? 

IfUBTAGH    COSOAB 

Too  much  feeling,  maybe,  (lie  stands  at  the  door  in 
silence.  With  sudden  enthusiasm)  Ah,  but  that's  the 
sight  to  fill  one's  heart.  Lands  ploughed  and  spread. 
And  all  our  own;    all  our  own. 

MARTIN    DOUBAS 

All  our  own,  ay.    But  we  made  a  hard  fight  for  them. 

IfUBTAGH   COBGAB 

Ay. 

MARTIN'    DOl'RAS 

Them  that  come  after  us  will  never  see  them  as  we're 
seeing  them  now. 

IfUBTAGH  COBGi \R  (turning  round) 
Them  that  come  after  us.  Isn't  that  a  great  thought, 
Martin  Douias?  and  isn't  it  a  great  thing  that  we're 
able  to  pass  this  land  on  t<>  them,  and  it  redeemed 
for  ever?  Ay,  and  their  manhood  spared  the  shame 
that  our  manhood  knew.  Standing  in  the  rain  with 
our  hats  off  to  let  a  landlord  —  ay,  or  a  landlord's 
dog-boy  —  pass  the  way! 

martin   DOUBAS  (mournfully) 

May  it  be  our  own  generation  that  will  be  in  it.  Ay, 
but  the  young  are  going  fast;  theyoun  oingfast. 

IfUBTAGH    COBGAB  (sternhj) 

Some  of  them  are  no  loss. 
MARTIN   doubas 

Ten  of  your  own  children  went,  Murta-h  Cosgar. 


98  THE  LAND 


MURTAGH    COSGAR 

I  never  think  of   them.     When   they  went  from  my 
control,  they  went  from  me  altogether.     There's  the 
more  for  Matt. 
MURtin  douras  (moistening    his  month,   and    beginning 
very  nervously)     Ay,  Matt.     Matt's  a  good  lad. 

MURTAGH   COSGAR 

There's  little  fear  of  him  leaving  now. 
martin  douras  (nervously) 

Maybe,  maybe.  But,  mind  you,  Murtagh  Cosgar, 
there  are  things  —  little  things,  mind  you.  Least, 
ways,  what  we  call  little  things.  And,  after  all,  who 
are  we  to  judge  whether  a  thing  — 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Is  there  anything  on  your  mind,  Martin  Douras? 
martin  douras  (hurriedly) 

No;  oh,  no.  I  was  thinking  —  I  was  thinking,  may- 
be you'd  give  me  a  lift  towards  Arvach,  if  you'd  be 
going  that  way  this  night. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Ay,  why  not? 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

And  we  could  talk  about  the  land,  and  about  Matt, 
too.  Wouldn't  it  be  a  heart-break  if  any  of  our  chil- 
dren went  —  because  of  a  thing  we  might  — 

murtagh  cosgar  (fiercely) 

What  have  you  to  say  about  Matt? 

martin  douras  (stammering) 

Nothing  except  in  a  —  in  what  you  might  call  a 
general  way.  There's  many  a  young  man  left  house 
and  land  for  the  sake  of  some  woman,  Murtagh  Cosgar. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

There's  many  a  fool  did  it. 


TIIK    LAND  !)!) 


MARTIN    not  RAS  (going  to  door) 

Ay.  maybe;   maybe.    I'll  Ik-  going  now,  Murtagh. 

Mi  BTAGH    COSOAB 

Stop!       (clutch 'nuj     him)      You     know     about     Mall. 
What  woman  is  hr  thinking  of? 
m  \i;  n\   DOi  a  ua  (frightened) 
We'll   talk  about   it   again,  Murtagh.     I  said  I'd  be 

hack. 
MURTAGH    COSGAR 

We'll  talk  about  it  now.     Who  is  she?     What  name 

has  she? 
MARTIN    DOURAS  (breaking  from    him    and  speaking    with 

sudden  dignity) 

It's    a    good    name,    Murtagh    Cosgar;   it's  my  own 

name. 
MURTAGH  COSG  u: 

Your  daughter!  Ellen!  You're  — 

MARTIN    DO!  B  US 

Ay,  a  good  name  and  a  good  girl. 
MURTAGH    COSG  LB 

And  d<>  you  think  a  son  of  mine  would  marry  a  daugh- 
ter of  yours? 

MARTIN    no  i  RAS 

Wli.it  greal  difference  is  between  us  after  all? 
mi  ut \i,n  cosgab  (fiercely) 
'rin-  daughter  of  a  man  who'd  be  sitting  over  liis  fire 
reading  his  paper,  and  the  clouds  above  lii-<  potatoes, 
and  the  COWS  trampling  his  Oats.  (Martin  is  hiatal 
down)  Do  yon  know  me  at  nil.  Martin  Douras?  I 
came  out  of  a  Little  house  by  the  roadway  and  built 
my  house  on  a  hill.  I  bad  many  children.  Coming 
home  in  the  long  evenings,  or  kneeling  still  when  tin- 
prayer-  would  lie  over,  I'd  have  my  dream-,.     A  son 


100  THE  LAND 


in  Aughnalee,  a  son  in  Ballybrian,  a  son  in  Dunmore, 
a  son  of  mine  with  a  shop,  a  son  of  mine  saying  Mass 
in  Killnalee.  And  I  have  a  living  name  —  a  name  in 
flesh  and  blood. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

God  help  you,  Murtagh  Cosgar. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

But  I've  a  son  still.     It's  not  your  daughter  he'll  be 
marrying.    {He  strides  to  the  door  and  calls  Matt) 
martin  douras  {going  to  him) 

Murtagh  Cosgar  —  for  God's  sake  —  we're  both  old 
men,  Murtagh  Cosgar. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

You've  read  many  stories,  Martin  Douras,  and  you 
know  many  endings.     You'll  see  an  ending  now,  and 
it  will  be  a  strong  ending,  and  a  sudden  ending. 
[Matt  comes  in. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

You're  wanted  here. 

MATT 

I    heard    you    call.     {He    sits  on    table)     So  they're 
sticking  to  the  twenty  years. 
martin  douras  {eagerly) 

Twenty  years,  Matt,  and  they'll  get  it  for  twenty. 
O,  it's  a  great  day  for  you  both!  Father  and  son,  you 
come  into  a  single  inheritance.  What  the  father  wins 
the  son  wields. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

What  the  father  wins,  the  son  wastes. 

MATT 

What's  the  talk  of  father  and  son? 

MARTIN   DOURAS 

They're  the  one  flesh  and  blood.     There's  no  more 


THE  LAND  Hi 


strife  between  them  than  between  the  right  hand  and 
the  left  hand. 

IfURTAOB    COSG  \k   {to   Matt) 

We  were  talking  about  you.  We  wore  fixing  a  match 
for  you. 

matt  (startied,  looking  at  Martin  Douras) 
Fixing  a  match  for  me?     {He  riacs) 

Ml  KT  A  Gil    COSG  AH 

Ay,  Matt.     Don't  you  think  it's  time  to  be  making  a 

match  for  you? 
matt  (sullenly,  going  to  the  door) 

Maybe  it  is.      When  you   have  chosen  the   woman, 

call.     I'll  be  without. 
miutach  cosgar  {going  to  him) 

We    haven't   chosen    yet.      But    it  won't   be    Martin 

Douras'  daughter,  anyhow. 

matt 

Stop.      You    drove    all    your    living    children    away, 

except  Sally  and  myself.     You  think  Sally  and  myself 

arc  the  one  sort. 
IfUBTAGH   COBGAfi   (tauntingly) 

Martin's  daughter,  Corney's  sister.     That's  the  girl 

for  you! 

MATT 

We're  not  the  one  sort,  I  tell  you.  Martin  Douras 
isn't  he  a  foolish  old  man  thai  would  drive  all  his 
children  from  him?  What  would  his  twenty  years' 
purchase  lie  to  him  then? 

IfUBTAGH   COBGAB 

It  wasn't  tor  my  children  I  worked.  No,  no;  thank 
God;  it  wasn't  for  my  children  I  worked.  Go,  if 
you  will.     I  can  be  alone. 


1(W  THE  LAND 


MARTIN    DOURAS 

0  Murtagh,  Murtagh,  sure  you  know  you  can't  be 
alone.     We're  two  old  men,  Murtagh. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

He  daren't  go. 

MATT 

Because  I'm  the  last  of  them  he  thinks  he  can  dare 
me  like  that. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

There  was  more  of  my  blood  in  the  others. 

MATT 

Do  you  say  that? 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

Don't  say  it  again.  For  God's  sake,  don't  say  it 
again,  Murtagh. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

1  do  say  it  again.  Them  who  dared  to  go  had  more 
of  my  blood  in  them! 

MATT 

Ah,  you  have  put  me  to  it  now,  and  I'm  glad,  glad. 
A  little  house,  a  bit  of  land.    Do  you  think  they  could 
keep  me  here? 
murtagh  cosgar  (to  Martin  Douras) 

It's  his  own  way  he  wants.  I  never  had  my  own  way. 
(To  Matt)  You're  my  last  son.  You're  too  young  to 
know  the  hardship  there  was  in  rearing  you. 

matt  (exultantly) 

Your  last  son;  that  won't  keep  me  here.  I'm  the 
last  of  my  name,  but  that  won't  keep  me  here.  I 
leave  you  your  lands,  your  twenty  years'  purchase. 
Murtagh  Cosgar,  Murtagh  Cosgar!  isn't  that  a  great 
name,  Martin  Douras  —  a  name  that's  well  planted, 


THE    LAND  103 


a  name  for  generations?     Esn't  he  a  lucky  man  that 
has  a  name  for  generations?    <//<  goes  out) 

MUBTAGH  k 

He  can't  go.    How  could  lie  go  and  he  the  lasl  of  tin* 
name.     Close  the  door,  I  say. 
maktin    DOUB 

He'll  go  to  Ellen,  surely.     We'll  lose  both  of  them. 
Murtagh  I         it,  God  comfort  you  and  me. 

KUBTAGB    COSGAB 

Ellen;     who's    Ellen?     Ay,   that   daughter  of  yours. 
(lose  the  door,  I  say. 

[//<•  sits  down   at  fireplace.    Martin  Douras  closes  door 
and  goes  to  him. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

Interior  of  Martin  Douras\  The  entrance  is  at  back 
left.  There  is  a  dresser  against  wall  back;  a  table  down 
from  dresser;  room  doors  right  and  left.  The  fireplace 
is  below  the  room  door  right;  there  are  stools  and  chairs 
about  it.  There  is  a  little  bookcase  left  of  the  dresser, 
and  a  mirror  beside  it.  There  are  patriotic  and  religious 
pictures  on  the  wall.  There  are  cups  and  saucers  on  table, 
and  a  teapot  beside  fire.  It  is  afternoon  still.  Ellen  Dour  as 
is  near  the  fire  reading.    Cornelius  comes  in  slowly. 

CORNELIUS 

I  left  the  men  down  the  road  a  bit.  We  ought  to  take 
great  pride  out  of  this  day,  Ellen.  Father  did  more 
than  any  of  them  to  bring  it  about. 

ELLEN 

He  suffered  more  than  any  of  them.  And  it's  little 
we'll  get  out  of  the  day. 

CORNELIUS 

It's  a  great  thing  to  have  prophesied  it,  even.  We'll 
be  here  to  see  a  great  change. 

ELLEN 

There  will  be  no  change  to  make  things  better! 

CORNELIUS 

Will  you  be  taking  that  school,  Ellen? 

ELLEN 

I'll  wait  a  while. 

[Sally  coming  in;   she  is  hurried. 


TIIK   I.ANI)  105 


bally,  (breathlessly) 

Oh,  God  save  you,  Cornelius.  Tell  mo,  is  my  father 
gone?  I  dread  going  back  and  he  there!  It  was  all 
over  that  baste  of  a  sow  that  has  kept  me  slaving  all 
through  the  spring  till  I  don't  know  whether  greens 
or  potatoes  is  the  fittest  for  her! 

CORNELIUS 

lie  didn't  go,  Sally.     I  went  down  a  bit  of  the  road 

myself  with  the  men. 

SALLY 

Oh,  God  help  me!  And  I'll  have  to  be  going  back  to 
boil  meal  for  her  now.  How  are  you,  Ellen.  (She  goes 
to  Ellen) 

ELLEN 

Sit  down  for  a  while,  Sally;    it's  a  long  time  since  I 
Was  speaking  to  you. 
[Sally  sits  down  beside  Ellen. 

CORNELIUS 

I'll  leave  this  paper  where  they  won't  be  looking  for 
pipe-lights.  There  are  things  in  that  paper  I'd  like 
to  be  saying.     (He  takes  a  newspaper  out  of  his  pocket 

and  goes  to  room  right) 

ellen  (to  Sally,  who  has  been  watching  Cornelius) 

Tell  me,  Sally,  are  they  always  that  busy  in  your 
house?     Is  your  father  as  harsh  as  they  say? 

SALLY 

Father  'ud  keep  us  all  working.  lie's  a  powerful 
great  man. 

ELLEN 

Matt  will  be  bringing  a  wife  into  the  house  soon  from 
all  I  hear.     How  would  your  father  treat  her? 


106  THE  LAND 


SALLY 

Oh,  he'd  have  his  way,  and  she'd  have  her  way,  I 
suppose. 

ELLEN 

And  do  you  think  your  father  will  let  him  marry? 

SALLY 

Sure  he  must  if  the  boy  likes. 

ELLEN 

What  would  he  say  if  Matt  married  a  girl  without  a 
fortune? 

SALLY 

In  my  mother's  country  there  are  lots  of  girls  with 
fortunes  that  Matt  could  have. 

ELLEN 

Supposing  he  wanted  a  girl  that  had  no  fortune? 

SALLY 

Oh,  I  suppose  father  would  give  in  in  the  end.  It 
wouldn't  be  clay  against  flint  when  Matt  and  father 
would  be  to  it. 

ELLEN 

You're  a  good  girl,  Sally.  If  I  was  Matt's  wife,  do 
you  think  you'd  be  fond  of  me? 

SALLY 

I'd  like  you  as  well  as  another,  Ellen. 
[Cornelius  comes  down  from  room. 

CORNELIUS 

I  suppose  they'll  be  here  soon. 

ELLEN 

I  have  tea  ready  for  them. 

SALLY 

Who's  coming  at  all? 

CORNELIUS 

Some  of  the  boys  and  girls  that  are  for  America. 


THE    LAND  107 


They  are  going  to  Gilroy's  to-night,  and  are  leaving 
from  that  in  the  morning.    They  arc  coming  in  to 
Ellen  on  their  way  down. 

BALL1 

There  are  a  good  many  going  this  Bight.    Tin*  land 

aever  troubles  them  in  America,  and  they  can  wear 

fine  clothes,  and  be  as  free  as  the  larks  over  the  bogs. 

It's  a  wonder  you  never  thought  of  going,  Ellen. 
ELLEN 

lather  wouldn't  like  me  to  be  far  from  him,  and  so 

I  went  in  for  the  school  instead. 
BALLY 

And  now  you've  goi  a  fine  boy  like  Matt.     It  was 

lucky  for  you  to  be  staying  here. 

ELLIN 

Hush,  Sally. 

BALL? 

Oh,  I  knew  all  about  it  before  you  talked  to  me  at 
all.  Matt  always  goes  to  the  place  where  he  thinks 
you'd  be. 

bllen  (rising) 
I'll  be  in  the  room  when  the  girls  come,  Cornelius. 
[She  goes  into  room  left. 

sally  {going  to  Cornelius) 
God  help  us,  but  she's  the  silent  creature.    Isn't  it  a 
wonder  -he's  qo1   filled  with  talk  of  him  after  seeing 
him   to-day?     But    Ellen's  right.     We  shouldn't   be 

talking  about    men,   nor   thinking  about    them  cither; 
and  that's  the  way  to  keep  them  on  our  hands  on  the 
long  run.     I'll  be  going  myself. 
[She  goes  inwards  (I- 

cobneld  a  {going  to  her) 

Don't  be  minding  Ellen  at  all,  Sally. 


108  THE  LAND 


SALLY 

Well,  as  high  as  she  is,  and  as  mighty  as  she  is,  she 
came  into  his  own  house  to  see  Matt.  God  between 
us  and  harm,  Cornelius,  maybe  they'll  be  saying  I 
came  into  your  house  to  see  you. 

CORNELIUS 

Who'll  know  you  came  at  all?  And  what  isn't  seen 
won't  be  spoken  of. 

SALLY 

Would  you  like  me  to  stay,  Cornelius? 

CORNELIUS 

Ay,  I  would. 

SALLY 

Divil  mind  the  sow. 
[They  sit  down  together. 
sally  (after  a  pause) 

Would  you  like  me  to  knit  you  a  pair  of  socks,  Cor- 
nelius? 

CORNELIUS 

Oh,  I  would,  Sally;   I'd  love  to  wear  them. 

SALLY 

I'll  knit  them.  We'll  be  getting  rid  of  the  sow  to- 
night, maybe,  and  I'll  have  time  after  that. 

CORNELIUS 

And  you  come  along  the  road  when  I'm  herding.  I 
don't  want  to  be  going  near  your  father's  house. 

SALLY 

O  Cornelius,  it  won't  be  lucky  for  us  when  father  hears 
about  Ellen  and  Matt. 

CORNELIUS 

That's  true.  No  man  sees  his  house  afire  but  looks 
to  his  rick. 


ttii:  LAND  100 


SALLY 

Come  down  a  bit  of  the  road  with  me,  Cornelius. 
The  sow  will  be  grunting  and  grunting,  reminding 
father  that  I'm  away.     Och,  a  minute  ago  I  was  as 

contented  as  if  there  was  do  land  or  pigs,  or  harsh 
words  to  trouble  one.  {She  goes  to  the  door)  The 
boys  and  girls  for  America  are  coming  here. 

CORNELIUS 

Give  me  your  hands  to  hold,  Sally.     (She  gives  him 

her  hands)     We  are  as  young  as  any  of  them  after  all. 

\_Tlicy  hold  each  other's  hands,  then  stand  apart. 

SALLY 

It's  a  fine  time  for  them  to  be  going  when  the  leaves 
are  opening  on  the  trees. 

\_Thrcc  boys  and  three  girls  enter.  They  arc  dressed  for 
going  away. 

SALLY 

God  save  you,  girls.     Good-bye,  Cornelius.     I'll  have 
to  run  like  a  redshank. 
[Sally  goes  out. 

CORN  ELI  is 

I'll  call  Ellen  down  to  you.     (77c  goes  to  the  room  door 
and    calls)     I'm    going    herding    myself.      Herding    is 
pleasant  when  you  have  thoughts  with  you. 
[//*•  takes   )i)>  the   rod  and  goes  out.     The  girls  begin 
whispering,  then  chattering. 

nasi  girl 

Sure  I  know.  Every  night  I'm  dreaming  of  the 
sea  and  the  great  towns.  Streets  and  streets  of 
houses  and  every  street  as  crowded  as  the  road 
outside  the  chapel  when  the  people  do  be  coming 
from  Mass. 


110  THE  LAND 


FIRST   BOY 

I  could  watch  the  crowd  in  the  street;  I  would  think 
it  better  than  any  sight  I  ever  knew. 

SECOND   GIRL 

And  the  shops  and  the  great  houses. 

SECOND   BOY 

There's  no  stir  here.  There's  no  fine  clothes,  nor 
fine  manners,  nor  fine  things  to  be  seen. 

THIRD   BOY 

There's  no  money.  One  could  never  get  a  shilling 
together  here.  In  America  there's  money  to  have  and 
to  spend  and  to  send  home. 

THIRD   GIRL 

Every  girl  gets  married  in  America. 
\_Ellen  comes  down. 

ELLEN 

I'm  glad  you  came.     I  have  tea  ready  for  you.     I 

can't  go  to  Gilroy's  to-night. 

\_Some  come  to  the  table  and  some  remain  near  the  door. 

A  girl  (at  table,  to  Ellen) 

They  say  that  a  peat  fire  like  that  will  seem  very 
strange  to  us  after  America.  Bridget  wondered  at  it 
when  she  came  back.  "Do  civilized  people  really 
cook  at  the  like  of  them?"   said  she. 

A   BOY 

It's  the  little  houses  with  only  three  rooms  in  them 
that  will  seem  strange.  I'm  beginning  to  wonder 
myself  at  their  thatch  and  their  mud  walls. 

ANOTHER    GIRL 

Houses  in  bogs  and  fields.  It  was  a  heart-break  trying 
to  keep  them  as  we'd  like  to  keep  them. 


Till:   LAND  111 


A    GIRL  ((if  door) 

All,  but  I'll  never  forget  Gortan  and  the  little  road 
to  Aughnalee. 

ANOTHEB   GIRL 

I  think  I'll  be  lonesome  for  a  long  time.  I'll  lie  think- 
ing <>n  my  brothers  and  .si>ter>.  1  nursed  and  minded 
all  tin-  tittle  on 

-r   BOY 
A  girl  like  you,  Ellen,  is  foolish  to  be  staying  here. 
SECOND    BOY 

She'll  be  coming  in  the  fall.  We'll  be  glad  to  see  you, 
Ellen. 

ELL  EX 

I  have  no  friends  in  America. 
first  girl 

I  have  no  friends  there,  either.  But  I'll  get  on.  You 
could  get  on  better  than  any  of  us,  Ellen. 

SECOND    GIRL 

She's  waiting  for  her  school.  It  will  be  a  little  place 
by  tlif  vide  of  a  bog. 

THIRD    GIRL  (<Joill(J  in  Ellen) 

There  would  be  little  change  in  that.  And  isn't  it  a 
life  altogether  different  from  this  life  that  we  have 
1  en  longing  lor?  To  be  doing  other  work,  and  to  be 
meeting  strange  people.  And  instead  of  bare  roads 
and  market-towns,  to  be  seeing  .streets,  and  crowds, 
and  theafc 
Ellen  nately) 

( »  what  do  you  know  about  streets  and  theaters?  Ymi 
have  only  heard  of  them.  They  are  finer  than  any- 
thing you  could  -ay.  They  are  finer  than  anything 
you  could  think  of.  after  a  story,  when  you'd  be 
young. 


112  THE  LAND 


A   GIRL 

You'll  be  going  after  all,  Ellen. 

ELLEN 

I  won't  be  going. 

FIRST   GIRL 

Well,  maybe  you'll  be  down  at  Gilroy's.     We  must 

go  now. 

\_The  girls  go  to  the  door.    Ellen  goes  with  them. 

ONE    OF   THE   BOYS 

Phil  said  that  an  egg  was  all  he  could  touch  while 
he  was  on  the  sea. 

SECOND   BOY 

God  help  us,  if  that  was  all  Phil  could  take. 

THIRD   BOY 

Light  your  pipes  now,  and  we'll  go. 
\_Ellen  has  'parted  with  the  girls.     The  boys  light  their 
pipes  at  fire.     They  go  to  door,  and  shake  hands  with 
Ellen.     The  boys  go  out. 

ELLEN 

Theaters!    What  do  they  know  of  theaters?    And  it's 

their  like  will  be  enjoying  them. 

[_Sally  comes  back.     She  is  more  hurried  than  before. 

SALLY 

Ellen!  Ellen!  I  have  wonders  to  tell.  Where  is 
Cornelius,  at  all?  He's  never  here  when  you  have 
wonders  to  tell. 

ELLEN 

What  have  you  to  tell? 

SALLY 

Oh,  I  don't  know  how  I'll  get  it  all  out!  Matt  and 
father  had  an  odious  falling  out,  and  it  was  about 
you.     And   Matt's  going  to  America;    and  he's  to 


THE   LAND  113 


bring  you  with  him.    And  Cornelius  was  Baying  that 

if  father  found  out  about  yourself  and  Matt  — 

ELLEN 

Sally,  Sally,  take  breath  and  tell  it. 

SALLY 

Matt   is  going  to  America,  like  the  others,  and  he's 
taking  you  with  him. 

ELL  I  N 

Sally,  Sally,  is  it  the  truth  you're  telling? 

BALLY 

It  is  the  truth.    Honest  as  day,  it  is  the  truth. 

ELL  IN 

And  I  thought  I'd  be  content  with  a  new  house.  Now 
we  can  go  away  together.  I  can  see  what  I  longed  to 
see.  I  have  a  chance  of  knowing  what  is  in  me. 
(She  takes  Sally's  hands)  It's  great  news  you've 
brought  me.  No  one  ever  brought  me  such  news 
•ore.  Take  this  little  cross.  You  won't  have  a 
chance  of  getting  fond  of  me  after  all.  (She  wears  a 
cross  at  her  throat;  she  breaks  the  string,  and  gives  it  to 
Sally) 

SALLY 

I  don't  know  why  I  was  so  fervent  to  tell  you.    There's 
the   stool    before   me   that    myself   and   Cornelius   were 
Bitting   on,   and   he   saying  —  (She   goes   to   the   door) 
Here"-  Matt!     Now  we'll  hear  all  about  it. 
ELLIN 

-  i  aoon;    ao  Boon.     (She  goes  to  the  mirror.    After  a 

use,  turning  to  Sally)  Go  down  the  road  a  bit, 
when  li«-  comes  in.  Sally,  you  have  a  Bimple  mind; 
you  mighl  be  Baying  a  prayer  that  it  will  be  for  the 
best. 


114  THE  LAND 


sally  (going  to  the  door  muttering) 

Go  down  the  road  a  bit!     'Deed  and  I  will  not  till  I 

know  the  whole  ins  and  outs  of  it.    Sure  I'm  as  much 

concerned  in  it  as  herself!     "No  man  sees  his  house 

afire   but    watches    his    rick,"    he    was    saying.      Ah, 

there's  few  of  them  could  think  of  as  fine  a  thing  as 

that. 

[Matt  comes  in. 

MATT 

Well,  Sally,  were  you  home  lately? 

SALLY 

I  was  —  leastways  as  far  as  the  door.  Father  and 
oul'  Martin  were  discoorsing. 

MATT 

I've  given  them  something  to  discoorse  about.  May- 
be you'll  be  treated  better  from  this  day,  Sally. 

SALLY 

0  Matt,  I'm  sorry. 
\_She  goes  out. 

matt  {going  to  Ellen) 

It  happened  at  last,  Ellen;  the  height  of  the  quarrel 
came. 

ELLEN 

It  was  bound  to  come.    I  knew  it  would  come,  Matt. 

MATT 

He  was  a  foolish  man  to  put  shame  on  me  after  all 

1  did  for  the  land. 

ELLEN 

You  had  too  much  thought  for  the  land. 

MATT 

I  had  in  troth.  The  others  went  when  there  was  less 
to  be  done.  They  could  not  stand  him.  Even  the 
girls  stole  away. 


THE   LAND  U5 


i  i.i 
There  was  the  high  spirit  in  the  whole  of  you. 

M  \  CT 

I  showed  it  to  him.     "Stop,"  said  I;    "no  more,  or  I 
fling  lands  and  house  and  everything  aside." 
ELLEN 

You  said  that. 

MATT 

Ay.  "Your  other  children  went  for  less,"  said  I; 
"do  you  think  there's  no  blood  in  me  at  all?" 

ELI 

What  happened  then? 

M  \TT 

"I'm  your  lasl  -on."  I  said;  "keep  your  land  and 
your  twenty  years'  purchase.  I'm  with  the  others; 
and  it's  poor  your  land  will  leave  you,  and  you  with- 
out a  sod  to  bring  down  your  name.  A  hit  of  land,  a 
house,"  said  I;  "do  you  think  these  will  keep  me 
her* 
ELLEN 

I  knew  they  could  not  keep  you  here,  Matt.  You 
have  broken  from  them  at  last;  and  now  the  world 
is  before  us.  Think  of  all  that  is  before  us —  the 
sea,  and  the  ships,  the  strange  life,  and  the  gnat 
cities. 

MATT 

Ay  —  there  before  us  —  if  we  like. 

ELLEN 

Surely  we  like. 

MATT 

I  was  always  shy  of  crowds.  I'm  simple,  after  all, 
Ellen,  and  have  no  thought  beyond  the  land. 


116  THE  LAND 


ELLEN 

You  said  that  house  and  land  could  not  keep  you. 
You  told  him  you  were  going  as  your  brothers  went. 

MATT 

And  I  felt  I  was  going.     I  frightened  him.     He'll  be 
glad  to  see  me  back.    It  will  be  long  before  he  treats 
me  that  way  again. 
ellen  {suddenly) 
Matt! 

MATT 

What  is  it,  Ellen? 

ELLEN 

I  don't  know  —  I  was  upset  —  thinking  of  the  quarrel 
{putting  her  hands  on  his  shoulders)  My  poor  Matt. 
It  was  about  me  you  quarrelled. 

MATT 

Ay,  he  spoke  against  you.  I  couldn't  put  up  with 
that. 

ELLEN 

He  does  not  know  your  high  spirit.  He  does  not 
know  your  strength. 

MATT 

Ellen,  it's  no  shame  for  a  man  to  have  harsh  words 
said  to  him  when  it's  about  a  woman  like  you. 

ELLEN 

Let  nothing  come  between  us  now.  I  saw  you  in  the 
winter  making  drains  and  ditches,  and  it  wet.  It's 
a  poor  story,  the  life  of  a  man  on  the  land. 

MATT 

I  had  too  much  thought  for  the  land. 

ELLEN 

You  had.  Have  thought  for  me  now.  There  is  no 
one  in  fair  or  market  but  would  notice  me.     I  was 


THE   LAND  117 


never  a  favourite.  I  lived  to  inyself.  I  did  not  give 
my  love  about.  You  have  never  offered  me  any- 
thing. In  the  song  a  man  offers  towns  to  his  sweet- 
heart. You  can  offer  me  the  sights  of  great  towns, 
ami  the  fine  manners,  and  the  fine  life. 

MATT 

Ellen!  (He  draws  a  Utile  away)  It's  not  me  that 
could  offer  the  like  of  that.  I  never  had  anything  to 
my  hand  hut  a  spade. 

ELLEN 

Your  brothers  —  think  of  them. 

MATT 

They  all  left  sonic  one  behind  them.     I  am  the  last 
of  my  name. 
ELLEN 

Why  should  that  keep  you  back? 

M  \TT 

His  name  is  something  to  a  man.     Could  you  hear  of 
your  own  name  melting  away  without  unease?     And 
you  are  a  woman.     A  man  feels  it  more. 
ELLEN 

I  do  not  understand  men.  Will  you  go  hack  to  your 
father's  house  alter  he  shaming  you  out  of  it? 

MATT 

He'll  he  glad  to  see  me  hack.     He'll  never  east  it  up 
to  me  that  I  went. 
ELLIN 

Mat  I,  your  father  said  words  against  me.  Will  you 
go  to  him  and  take  his  hand  after  that? 

M  \TT 

It  was  little  he  said  against  you.  It  was  against  youi 
father  he  spoke. 


118  THE  LAND 


ellen  {sinking  down  on  a  chair,  and  putting  hands  before 

her  face) 

My  God!    After  all  my  waiting,  you  talk  like  that. 
matt  (going  to  her) 

Ellen,  Ellen,  tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you?    There's 

land  and  houses  to  be  had  here.     Father  will  let  me 

have  my  own  way  after  this. 
ellen  (rising,  with  anger) 

AVhat  does  it  matter  to  me  whether  he  lets  you  have 

your  own  way  or  not?    Do  you  think  I  could  go  into 

a  farmer's  house? 

MATT 

Ellen! 

ELLEN 

It's  a  bad  hand  I'd  make  of  a  farmer's  house.  I'm 
not  the  sort  to  be  in  one.    I'm  not  like  Sally. 

matt  (getting  angry) 

Don't  be  talking  that  way,  Ellen  Douras. 

ellen  (with  great  vehemence) 

I  must  be  talking  like  this.  If  you  take  me,  you  will 
have  to  go  from  your  father's  house.  I  always  knew 
it.    You  ought  to  know  it  now,  Matt  Cosgar. 

matt 

You  didn't  know  it  always.  And  you  have  let  some 
one  come  between  us  when  you  talk  like  that. 

ELLEN 

I'm  not  one  to  be  listening  to  what  people  say  about 
you.    Nor  do  I  be  talking  in  the  markets  about  you. 

MATT 

I  suppose  not.  You  wouldn't  have  people  think  you 
gave  any  thought  to  me;  I'm  not  good  enough  for 
you.    The  people  you  know  are  better. 


THE    LAND  110 


1.1.1.1   N 

You  arc  foolish  to  be  talking  like  that.  You  are 
foolish,  I  say. 

MATT 

I  know  I  am  foolish.     Fit  only  to  he  working  in  drains 
and  ditches  in  the  winter.     That's  what  you  think. 
ELLEN 

Maybe  it  is. 

MATT 

Ellen  Douras!  Ellen  Douras!  A  fanner's  roof  will  be 
high  enough  for  you  some  day. 

ELLEN 

May  I  never  see  the  day.  Go  back,  go  back.  Make 
it  up  with  your  father.  Your  father  will  be  glad  of  a 
labourer. 

MATT 

Maybe  you  won't  be  glad  if  I  go  back;    thinking  on 
what  you've  said. 
ELLEN 

I  said  too  much.     YYe  don't  know  each  other  at  all. 
Go  back.    Ymi  have  made  your  choice. 
[She  goes  up  to  room  left. 

MATT 

Very  well,  then.  God  above,  am  I  to  be  treated 
everywhere  like  a  heifer  strayed  into  a  patch  of  oats? 
Neither  man   nor  woman   will   make   me  put    up  with 

this  any  longer.  (Going  to  door)  Wheu  Ellen  Douras 
wants  me,  she  knows  the  place  to  send  to.    {He  stands 

at  door.  There  is  no  sound  from  room.  Going  back  he 
speaks  loudly)  I'll  be  waiting  two  days  or  three  days 
to  hear  from  Ellen  Douras. 

[There  is  no  sound.  Matt  goes  out.  The  room  door  is 
thrown  open,  and  Ellen  comes  doirn. 


120  THE  LAND 


ellen  (furiously) 

Two  days  or  three  days  he'll  wait  for  me.  As  if  I'd 
go  into  Murtagh  Cosgar's  house.  As  if  I'd  go  into 
any  farmer's  house.  As  if  I'd  get  married  at  all,  and 
the  world  before  me.  Two  days  or  three  days  you'll 
wait.  Maybe  it's  lonesome,  weary  years  you'll  be 
waiting,  Matt  Cosgar. 

CURTAIN 


ACT   III 

Interior  of  Mutiagh  Cosgar*s.  It  is  towards  sunset. 
Murtagh  Cosgar  is  standing  before  the  door  looking  out. 
Martin  Douros  is  fitting  at  the  fire  in  an  armchair. 

HASTEN    DOUKAS 

It'-  getting  late,  Murtagh  Cosgar. 

KUBTAGB    COSOAB 

Ay,  it's  getting  late. 

MAKTIN    DOUBAS 

It's  time  for  me  to  be  going  home.    I  should  be  seeing 
Ellen.     {He  rises) 
Ml  BTAGB    COSGAB 

Stay  R  here  you  are.  (  Turning  round)  We're  two  old 
men,  as  you  say.  We  should  keep  each  other's  com- 
pany for  a  bit. 

MAKTIN     DOI   BA8 

I  should  be  going  home  to  see  Ellen. 
Mi  B.TAGH    '  OSGAB 

If  she's  going,  you  can't  stay  her.  Let  you  keep  here. 
ICARTTN    Di 'i  B 

Shell   1"'  wondering  what   happened  to  me. 
MIIIT  \'.II    (  OSGAB 

Divil  a  bit   it  will  trouble  her.     You're  going  to  the 

fair  anyv, 
M  LBTEN    DOUB  \B 

I  have  no  heart  to  be  going  into  a  fair. 
Mi  STAGE    «  I  H3G  LB 

It's  myself  used  to  have  th<-  great   heart.     Driving 


122  THE  LAND 


in  on  my  own  side-car,  and  looking  down  on  the 
crowd  of  them.  It's  twenty  years  since  I  took  a  sup 
of  drink.  Oh,  we'll  have  drinking  to-morrow  that 
will  soften  the  oul'  skin  of  you.  You'll  be  singing  songs 
about  the  Trojans  to  charm  every  baste  in  the  fair. 

MARTIN   DOURAS 

We're  both  old  men,  Murtagh  Cosgar. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

And  is  there  any  reason  in  your  scholarship  why  oul' 
men  should  be  dry  men?      Answer  me  that! 

MARTIN   DOURAS 

I  won't  answer  you  at  all,  Murtagh  Cosgar.  There's 
no  use  in  talking  to  you. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Put  it  down  on  a  piece  of  paper  that  oul'  men  should 
have  light  hearts  when  their  care  is  gone  from  them. 
They  should  be  like  — 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

There's   nothing   in   the   world   like   men   with   their 
rearing  gone  from  them,  and  they  old. 
\_Sally  comes  to  the  door.    She  enters  stealthily. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Ha,  here's  one  of  the  clutch  home.  Well,  did  you  see 
that  brother  of  yours? 

SALLY 

I  did.    He'll  be  home  soon,  father. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

What's  that  you  say?  Were  you  talking  to  him? 
Did  he  say  he'd  be  home? 

SALLY 

I  heard  him  say  it,  father. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

God  bless  you  for  the  news,  Sally. 


THE   LAND  123 


Ml  KTAi.Il    <  <  M3GAH 

How  oould  be  Lr<>  and  he  the  last  of  them?    Sure  it 

would  be  against  nature.     Where  did  you  see  him, 

Sally? 
B  LLLY 

At  Martin  Douras's,  father. 
IffURTAGB    COSGAB 

It'-  that   Ellen  Douras  that's  putting  him  up  to  all 

this.    Don't  you  be  said  by  her,  Sally. 

SALLY 

No,  father. 

IfUBTAGH    COSGAR 

You're  a  good  girl,  and  if]  you  haven't  wit,  you  have 
sense.    He'll  be  home  soon,  did  you  say? 

SALLY 

He  was  coming  home.  He  went  round  the  long  way, 
I'm  thinking.  Ellen  Douras  was  vexed  with  him, 
father.  She  isn't  going  either,  Matt  says,  but  I'm 
thinking  that  you  might  as  well  try  to  keep  a  corn- 
crake  in  the  meadow  for  a  whole  winter,  as  to  try  to 
keep  Ellen  Douras  in  Aughnaler. 
IIUBTAGB    COSGAR 

Make  the  place  tidy  for  him  to  come  into.     He'll  have 
no  harsh  words  from  me.     (He  goes  up  to  the  room) 

SALLY 

Father's  surely  getting  ould. 
martin  doubas  {sitting  down) 
He's  gone  up  to  rest  himself,  God  help  him.    Sally, 
a  star,  I'm  that  fluttered,  I  dread  going  into  my  own 
house. 

BALLY 

I'll  get  ready  now,  and  let  you  have  a  good  supper 
before  you  go  to  the  fair. 


124  THE  LAND 


MARTIN    DOURAS 

Sit  down  near  me,  and  let  me  hear  everything,  Sally. 
Was  it  Matt  that  told  you,  or  were  you  talking  to 
Ellen  herself? 

SALLY 

O,  indeed,  I  had  a  talk  with  Ellen,  but  she  won't 
give  much  of  her  mind  away.  It  was  Matt  that  was 
telling  me.  "Indeed  she's  not  going,"  said  he,  "and 
a  smart  young  fellow  like  myself  thinking  of  her. 
Ellen  is  too  full  of  notions."  Here's  Matt  himself. 
Father  won't  have  a  word  to  say  to  him.  He's  getting 
mild  as  he's  getting  ould,  and  maybe  it's  a  fortune 
he'll  be  leaving  to  myself. 
\_Matt  comes  to  the  door.    He  enters. 

MATT 

j    Where  is  he?    He's  not  gone  to  the  fair  so  early? 

SALLY 

He's  in  the  room. 

MATT 

Were  you  talking  to  him  at  all?  Were  you  telling 
him  you  saw  myself? 

SALLY 

I  was  telling  him  that  you  were  coming  back. 

MATT 

How  did  he  take  it? 

SALLY 

Very  quiet.     God  help  us  all;    I  think  father's  losing 
his  spirit. 
matt  (going  to  Martin) 

Well,  you  see  I've  come  back,  Martin. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

Ay,  you're  a  good  lad.  I  always  said  you  were  a 
good  lad. 


THE   LAND  125 


M  \TT 

How  did  father  take  it,  Martin? 

MARTIN    DOl  B  LS 

(juicily,  quietly.    You  saw  Ellon? 

MATT 

Ay,  I  saw  Ellen  {gloomily).  She  shouldn't  t;ilk  the 
way  she  talks,  Martin.  'What  she  said  keeps  coming 
into  my  mind,  and  I'm  troubled.  God  knows  I've 
trouble  enough  <>n  my  head. 

M  \i;ti\    DOTTRAS  (eagerly) 

What  di.l  she  say,  Matt  Cosgar? 

MATT 

It  wasn't  what  she  said.    She  has  that  school  in  her 
mind,  I  know. 
U  \ktin"   Don;  \s 

Ami  is  there  anything  to  keep  her  here,  Matt  Cosgar? 

M  \TT 

I  don't  know  that   she  thinks  much  of  me  now.     'We 
had  a  few  words,  but   there's  nothing  in  the  world  I 
put  above  Ellen  Douras. 
M  MiTIN    DOUBAS 

I  should  be  going  to  her. 

MATT 

Wait  a  bit,  and  I'll  be  going  with  you.  Wait  a  bit. 
Lei  us  talk  it  over.  She  wouldn't  go  from  you,  and 
you  old. 

MARTIN    DO!  K  U3 

God  forgive  my  age,  if  it  would  keep  1km-  here.  Would 
I  have  my  Ellen  drawing  turf,  or  minding  a  cow,  or 
feeding  pi     f 

MATT 

I'm   fond  of  her,   Martin.      She  COuldn'1    go,  and    I 
fond  of  her.     What   am    I    doing   here?      1    should   be 


126  THE  LAND 


making  it  up  with  her.  What  good  will  anything  be 
if  Ellen  Douras  goes?  (He  turns  to  the  door,  then 
stojys)  I  came  to  settle  with  him.  I  mustn't  be  run- 
ning about  like  a  frightened  child. 
\_The  room  door  opens,  and  Murtagh  Cosgar  is  seen. 
Sally  has  hung  a  pot  over  the  fire,  and  is  cleaning  the 
dishes  at  the  dresser. 
murtagh  cosgar  (at  the  room  door) 

Sally,  it's  time  to  be  putting  on  the  meal.  If  you  have 
any  cabbage  left,  put  it  through  the  meal.  (To  Matt) 
You  put  the  thong  in  the  harness? 

MATT 

I  did  (pause)     Well,  I've  come  back  to  you. 

MURTGAH    COSGAR 

You're  welcome.    We  were  making  ready  for  the  fair. 

MATT 

I'll  be  going  out  again  before  nightfall. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

I'll  not  be  wanting  you  here,  or  at  the  fair. 
matt  (sullenly) 

There's  no  good  talking  to  me  like  that. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

You  said,  "I've  come  back,"  and  I  said,  "you're 
welcome."  You  said,  "I'm  going  out  again,"  and  I 
said,  "I'll  not  be  wanting  you." 

MATT 

Father,  have  you  no  feeling  for  me  at  all? 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Sure  the  wild  raven  on  the  tree  has  thought  for  her 
young. 

MATT 

Ay,  but  do  you  feel  for  me,  and  I  standing  here, 
trying  to  talk  to  you? 


TIIK   LAND  127 


fUBTAGE    COSGAB 

You're  my  son,  and  so  I  feel  sorry  for  you;  and  you 
beginning  to  know  your  own  foolishness.  (//'■  turns 
in  Sally)  I'm  cot  taking  the  pigs.  Put  a  fresh  bed- 
ding under  them  to-night. 

IALLY 

I  will,  father. 
,11  1; I  \i.ii    i  OSG  \K 

Be  up  early,  and  let  the  cows  along  the  road,  or  they'll 

be  breaking  into  the  young  meadow. 
JALLY 

I'll  do  that,  too. 
IUBTAGB    I  l  >SGAB 

Be  sure  to  keep  enough  fresh  milk  for  the  young  calf. 

SALLY 

I'll  1>(>  >ure  to  do  it,  father. 

[She  goes  out.     Martin  takes  out  his  paper,  and  begins 

t<<  read  it  again. 
Hatt  {turning  on  Murtagh) 

Before  I  go  out  again  there's  something  I  want  settled. 
KUBTAGB    COSGAB 

What  is  it  you  want!'' 
HATT 

Would  you  have  me  go,  or  would  you  have  me  stay? 
HUBTAG SGAB 

Don't  In-  talking  of  going  or  staying,  and  you  the  last 

of  them. 

MATT 

But  I  will  be  talking  of  it.  You  musl  treal  me  dif- 
ferently if  you  want  in  •  to  stay.  You  must  treat  me 
differently  to  the  way  you  treal  Sally. 

KUBTAGB    <  OSGAB 

You  were  always  treated  differently,  Matt.     In  no 


128  THE  LAND 


house  that  ever  I  remember  was  there  a  boy  treated 
as  well  as  you  are  treated  here. 

MATT 

The  houses  that  you  remember  are  different  from  the 
houses  that  are  now.  Will  you  have  me  go,  or  will 
you  have  me  stay? 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

You're  very  threatening.  I'd  have  you  stay.  For 
the  sake  of  the  name,  I'd  have  you  stay. 

MATT 

Let  us  take  hands  on  it,  then. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Wait,  we'll  see  what  you  want  first. 

MATT 

You  have  no  feeling.  I'd  go  out  of  this  house,  only 
I  want  to  give  you  a  chance. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Stop.  We  can  have  kindness  in  this.  We  needn't  be 
beating  each  other  down,  like  men  at  a  fair. 

MATT 

We're  not  men  at  a  fair.    May  God  keep  the  kindness 
in  our  hearts. 
[Martin  rises. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Don't  be  going,  Martin  Douras. 

MATT 

Don't  be  going  yet.     I'll  be  with  you,  when  you're 

going. 

\_Martin  sits  down. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR  (to  Matt) 

You'll  be  getting  married,  I  suppose,  if  you  stay? 

MATT 

Maybe  I  will. 


THE   I  AND  V20 

,vt;  11  cosg  \i;  (bitterly) 
In  the  houses  thai  are  now,  the  young  marry  where 
they  have  a  mind  to.     It's  their  own  business,  they 
Bay. 

M  \T1' 

Maybe  it  is  their  own  business.  I'm  going  to  marry 
Ellen  Douras,  it'  she'U  have  me. 

KUBTAGB    COSG  \\i 

Ellen  i-  a  good  girl,  and  clever,  I'm  told.  But  I  would 
not  have  you  deal  before  you  go  into  the  fair. 

MATT 
I'm  going  to  marry  Ellen  Douras. 

KUBTAGH    COSGAB 
Her  father  is  here,  and  we  can  settle  it  now.     What 
fortune  will  you  he  giving  Ellen,  Martin?    That  £100 
that  was  saved  while  you  were  in  Maryborough  gaol? 
[Martin  shakes  his  head. 

matt  (stubbornly) 
I'm  going  to  marry  Ellen  Douras,  with  or  without  a 
fortune. 

kurtagh  oosGAB  (passionately) 

Hoy,  your  father  built  this  house.  He  got  these 
land>  together.  He  has  a  right  to  sec  that  you 
and  your  generations  are  in  the  way  of  keeping  them 
together. 

MATT 

I'll  marry  Ellen  Douras,  with  or  without  a  fortune. 

Ml'KT  \<.II    <  OSG  \K 

Marry  her,  then.     Marry  Ellen  Douras. 

MATT 

Nov.,    Martin,   we   mustn'1    let    an    hour   pass   without 

going  to  her.  {He  takes  Martin's  arm,  and  they  <j<>  !■> 
the  door) 


130  THE  LAND 


MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Marry  Ellen  Douras,  I  bid  you.     Break  what  I  have 
built,  scatter   what    I    have   put   together.      That   is 
what  all  the  young  will  be  doing. 
[Ellen  Douras  comes  to  the  door  as  Matt  and  Martin 
reach  it. 

MATT 

Ellen! 

[She  shrinks  back. 

ELLEN 

It's  my  father  I  came  to  speak  to. 
murtagh  cosgar    {going  to  the  door,   and  drawing  the 
bolt  from  the  half-door) 

When  you  come  to  my  house,  Ellen  Douras,  you  are 
welcome  within. 
[Ellen  comes  in. 

ELLEN 

It's  right  that  I  should  speak  to  you  all.  Matt  Cosgar, 
I  am  going  from  here. 

MATT 

Ellen,  Ellen,  don't  be  saying  that.  Don't  be  thinking 
of  the  few  words  between  us.  It's  all  over  now. 
Father  agrees  to  us  marrying.  Speak,  father,  and  let 
her  hear  yourself  say  it. 

ELLEN 

I  can't  go  into  a  farmer's  house. 

MATT 

You  said  that  out  of  passion.  Don't  keep  your  mind 
on  it  any  longer. 

ELLEN 

It's  true,  it's  true.  I  can't  go  into  a  farmer's  house. 
This  place  is  strange  to  me. 


THE   LAND  LSI 


[ATT 

How  can  you  talk  like  that?    I'm  always  thinking  of 

you. 

,1.1.1  \ 
I've  stayed  here  long  enough.    I  want  my  own  way; 

I   want   to  know   the  world. 

1ATT 

If  you  go,  how  will  I  be  living,  day  after  day?  The 
heart  will  be  gone  out  of  me. 

njBTAGH    COSG  \K 

You'll  be  owning  the  land,  Matt  Cosgar. 

i a  it  !  passionately) 
I've  worked  on  the  land  all  my  days.     Don't  talk  to 
me  about  it  now. 

[Ellen  goes  to  Martin.  Murtagh  goes  up  to  the  door, 
and  then  turns  ami  speaks. 

IUBTAGB    I  08GAB 

Listen  to  me,  Matt  Cosgar;  and  you  listen  too,  Ellen 
Douras.  It's  a  new  house  you  want  maybe.  This 
hou>e  was  built  for  me  ami  my  generations;  but  I'll 
build  a  new  house  for  you  both.  It's  hard  for  a  man 
to  part  with  his  land  before  the  hour  of  his  death; 
and  it's  hard  for  a  man  to  break  his  lands;  but  I'll 
break  them,  and  give  a  share  of  land  to  you. 

ELLEN 
You  were  never  friendly  to  me;    but  you  have  the 
high  spirit,  and  you  deserve  a  better  daughter  than  I 
would  make.     The  land  and  house  you  offer  would 
be  a  drag  on  me.    {She  goes  to  the  dour) 

klATT 

Ellen,  whal  he  offers  is  nothing,  after  all;   but  I  care 

for  you.     Sure  you  won't  go  from  me  like  that? 


132  THE  LAND 


ELLEN 

Oh,  can't  you  let  me  go?  I  care  for  you  as  much  as  I 
care  for  any  one.     But  it's  my  freedom  I  want. 

MATT 

Then  you're  going  surely? 

ELLEN 

I  am.    Good-bye. 

[She  goes  out,  Martin  follows  her.  Matt  stands  dazed. 
Murtagh  closes  the  door,  then  goes  and  takes  Matt' 8 
arm,  and  brings  him  down. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

Be  a  man.  We  offered  her  everything,  and  she  went. 
There's  no  knowing  what  the  like  of  her  wants.  The 
men  will  be  in  soon,  and  we'll  drink  to  the  new  owner- 
ship. 

MATT 

Oh,  what's  the  good  in  talking  about  that  now?  If 
Ellen  was  here,  we  might  be  talking  about  it. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

To-morrow  you  and  me  might  go  together.  Ay,  the 
bog  behind  the  meadow  is  well  drained  by  this,  and 
we  might  put  the  plough  over  it.  There  will  be  a 
fine,  deep  soil  in  it,  I'm  thinking.  Don't  look  that 
way,  Matt,  my  son. 

MATT 

When  I  meet  Ellen  Douras  again,  it's  not  a  farmer's 
house  I'll  be  offering  her,  nor  life  in  a  country  place. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

No  one  could  care  for  you  as  I  care  for  you.    I  know 
the  blood  between  us,  and  I  know  the  thoughts  I 
had  as  I  saw  each  of  you  grow  up. 
\_Matt  moves  to  the  door. 


THE   LAND  133 


IfUBTAGH   COBG  \K 

\\  here  are  you  going? 

II  VIT 

To  Bee  the  boys  that  are  going  away. 

Ml  KT At. 11    i  OBGAB 

Wait  till  the  fall  and  I'll  give  you  money  t<>  go  and 
come  back.  FarreU  Kavanagb  often  goes  to  America. 
You  could  go  with  him. 

MATT 

I'll  go  by  myself,  unless  Ellen  Douras  comes  now.    The 
creamery  owes  me  money  for  the  carting,  and  I'll  get 
it. 
IfUBTAGB    '  OSG  \H 

Then  go.    Good-bye  to  you,  Matt  Cosgar. 

MATT 

( rood-bye  to  you. 

[//<•  goes  out.    Murtarjh  stands,  then  moves  about  vaguehj 
IfUBTAGB    <  OBGAB 

The  floor  swept,  the  hearth  tidied.     It's  a  queer  end 

to  it  all.     Twenty  years  I  bid  them  offer.     Twenty 

years,  twenty  year-! 

[Martin  comes  had:. 
KURTAGB    COBG  Mi 

The  men  will  be  eoming  back. 
MARTIN    DOXJ] 

I  suppose  they  will. 

IfUBTAGB    <  <>-<■  \lt 

You're  a  queer  fellow,  Martin  Douras.    You  went  to 

gaol  for  some  meeting. 

MAKT1N     IX  >I    B  L8 

Ay. 

IfUBTAGB  \It 

Them  was  the  stirring  time-,.      I  canM   help  but  think 


134  THE  LAND 


of  you  in  gaol,  and  by  yourself.  What  brings  you 
back  now? 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

Ellen  told  me  to  go  back.  I  should  say  something  to 
Matt,  I  think. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

He  went  out  as  you  came  in. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

I'll  go  in  when  the  house  is  quiet.  I'll  have  a  few 
prayers  to  be  saying  this  night. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

I'm  going  to  the  fair. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

I  won't  be  going  to  the  fair. 

MURTAGH   COSGAR 

Why  won't  you  be  going  to  the  fair?  Didn't  you  ask 
me  for  a  lift?    You'll  be  going  with  me. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

I  won't  be  going,  and  don't  be  overbearing  me  now, 
Murtagh  Cosgar. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

You  will  be  going  to  the  fair,  if  it  was  only  to  be  show- 
ing that  seemly  face  of  yours.  (Going  to  the  door,  he 
calls  "Sally!"  He  turns  to  Martin  Douras)  I've 
a  daughter  still,  Martin  Douras. 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

You  have,  and  I  have  a  son. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

What  would  you  say  to  a  match  between  them, 
Martin  Douras? 

MARTIN    DOURAS 

I  have  nothing  to  say  again  it. 


THE   LAND  1S5 


IfUBTAGH    COSGAB 

Then  a  match  it  will  1"'. 

[>'<*//>/  comes  in  from  yard. 
B  OjLI 

If  you  iV<l  iliat  baste  on  honey,  she*d  turn  on  you. 
Cabbage  I  gave  her  and  got  into  trouble  for  it,  and 
now  she's  gone  and  trampled   the  bad  potatoes   till 

they're  hardly  worth  the  boiling.     I'll  put  the  bush  in 
the  gap  when  I'm  going  out  again,  father. 
Ml'UTAGII    COSGAB 

Ay.     [s  that  Cornelius  Douras  that's  coming  up  the 

path? 

S  U.LY 

O  faith  it  is.  I'll  get  him  to  give  me  a  hand  with  the 
trough. 

melius  comes  in. 

CORNKl 

Well,  Murtagh  Cosgar,  a  great  and  memorial  day  is 
ended.     May  you  live  long  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  it. 
Twenty  years  on  the  iir-t   term,  and  the  land  is  ours 
and  our  children's.     I  met  the  men. 
IfURTAGB    I  I   3<    \K 

()ur>  and  our  children's,  ay.  We've  been  making  a 
match  between  yourself  and  Sally. 

\KI.H   ^ 

Between  me  and  Sally? 

SALLY 

B  (ween  Cornelius  and  myself? 

IfUBTAGB    I  ■  *     Mi 

Ay,  shake  hands  on  it  now. 

M.i.n  a 
And  tell  me  one  thing,  Murtagh   '  r.     I-  it   true 

that    Matt's  going  to  America,   and   that    Ellen    will 


13G  THE  LAND 


wait  for  him  for  a  year  at  the  school?  I  met  them 
together,  and  they  told  me  that. 

MURTAGH    COSGAR 

What  they  say  is  true,  I'm  sure.     The  land  is  yours 
and  your  children's. 
sally  (wiping  her  hands  in  her  apron) 
0  Cornelius. 

CORNELIUS 

Aren't  they  foolish  to  be  going  away  like  that,  father, 
and  we  at  the  mouth  of  the  good  times?  The  men 
will  be  coming  in  soon,  and  you  might  say  a  few  words. 
(Martin  shakes  his  head)  Indeed  you  might,  father; 
they'll  expect  it  of  you.  (Martin  shakes  his  head. 
Murtagh  and  Sally  try  to  restrain  him)  "Men  of 
Ballykillduff,"  you  might  say,  "stay  on  the  land, 
and  you'll  be  saved  body  and  soul;  you'll  be  saved  in 
the  man  and  in  the  nation.  The  nation,  men  of 
Ballykillduff,  do  you  ever  think  of  it  at  all?  Do  you 
ever  think  of  the  Irish  nation  that  is  waiting  all  this 
time  to  be  born?" 

[He  becomes  more  excited;  he  is  seen  to  be  struggling 
with  words. 

END    OF    PLAY 


The  Land  was  first  produced  at  the  Abbey  Theater, 
Dublin,  in  June,  1905,  by  The  Irish  National  Theat<  r 
Society,  under  the  direction  of  W.  G.  Fay,  with  the 
following  east:  — 

Mtjbtagh  Cosgab W.  G.  Fay 

M  \ TT Proinsias  MacSiubhlaigh 

S\li.i Sara  Allgood 

Martin  Douras F.  J.  Fay 

Cornelius Arthur  Sinclair 

Ellen Maire  Ni  Gharbhaigh 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


CHARACTERS 

Thomas  MusKERRY The     Master    of    Garrisowen 

Workhouse 

Mi;-.  Chilly His  Daughter 

Cbofton  Chilly His  Son-in-law 

Albert  Cbilly Bus  Grandson 

An\a  (Lilly His  Granddaughter 

James  S<  ollabd Thomas  Muskerry's  Successor 

Felix  TOUBNOUB The     Porter     at     Workhouse 

Lodge 

Mvi.ks  Gorman \  Blind  Piper 

Christy  Clarke V  Boy  reared  in  the  Work- 
house 

Shanley 

Mn  Kir.  Cripes }■  Paupers  in  Workhouse 

An  Old  Man 


Scene:  Qarrisowen,  a  town  in  the  Irish  Midland*. 


ACT   FIRST 

The  Master's  office  in  Garrisowen  Workhouse.  It  is 
oartly  an  office,  partly  a  living  room.  To  the  right  u  a 
loor  opening  on  corridor,  and  in  the  hack,  left,  a  floor 
eading  to  the  Master's  apartments.  There  is  an  iron 
'tore  down  from  had;  and  towards  right,  and  a  big  grand- 
"athcr's  dock  hack  toirards  door  of  apartments.  A  basket 
irm  chair  down  from  store,  and  a  wooden  chair  beside  if. 
There  is  a  desk  against  trail,  left,  and  an  office  stool  before 
't.  Point  from  this  desk  a  table  on  which  is  a  closed  desk. 
')n  table  are  hooks,  papers,  and  files.  On  a  wooden  chair 
beside  the  arm  chair  is  a  heap  of  newspapers  and  periodi- 
cals. There  is  a  rack  beside  corridor  door,  and  on  rack  a 
thaid,  t.n  old  coat,  a  hat,  and  a  hunch  of  big  keys.  In  the 
zorncr,  light,  is  a  little  cabinet,  and  on  it  a  small  mirror. 
Above  door  of  apartments  a  picture  of  Daniel  O'Connell. 
The  grandfather's  clock  is  ticking  audibly.  It  is  8.45 
p.m.     The  gas  over  desk  is  lighted. 

Christy  Clarke,  a  youth  of  about  seventeen,  is  seated  in 

the  armchair  reading  a  periodical.  His  clothes  are  thread- 
bare,  but  brushed  and  clean.      lie  looks  studious,  and  has 

intellectual  possibilities.  The  dock  ticks  on,  the  boy  reads, 
but  with  little  attention.  At  the  corridor  door  there  is  a 
knocking.    Christy  Clarke  turns  slightly.     The  door  opens, 

and  a  tall  man  in  the  ugly  dress  of  a  jumper  is  seen.  'The 
man  is  Felix  TournOUr.  lie  carries  in  a  bucket  of  coal. 
II      performs    this    action    like    one    uho    has    acquired    the 

habit  <>f  work  under  an  overseer.    He  is  an  ugly  figure  in 

his  pauper  dress.     His  scant)!  beard  is  f'al  black,     lie  has 


144  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

a   wide   mouth   and   discoloured   teeth.     His  forehead   is 
narrow  and  bony.     He  is  about  forty-five. 

tournour  (in  a  harsh  voice,  after  looking  around) 

Is  he  not  back  yet? 
christy  (without  stirring) 

Is  who  not  back  yet? 

TOURNOUR 

The  master  I'm  talking  about.     I  don't  know  where 
he  does  be  going  these  evenings. 
[He  shovels  coal  into  the  stove. 

CHRISTY 

And  what  is  it  to  you  where  he  does  be  going? 

TOURNOUR 

Don't  talk  to  me  like  that,  young  fellow.  You're 
poorhouse  rearing,  even  though  you  are  a  pet.  Will 
he  be  sitting  up  here  to-night,  do  you  know? 

CHRISTY 

WThat's  that  to  you  whether  he  will  or  not? 

TOURNOUR 

If  he's  sitting  up  late  he'll  want  more  coal  to  his  fire. 

CHRISTY 

W^ell,  the  abstracts  will  have  to  be  finished  to-night. 

TOURNOUR 

Then  he  will  be  staying  up.  He  goes  out  for  a  walk  in 
the  evenings  now,  and  I  don't  know  where  he  does  be 
going. 

CHRISTY 

He  goes  out  for  a  walk  in  the  country.  (Tournour 
makes  a  leer  of  contempt)  Do  you  never  go  for  a  walk 
in  the  country,  Felix  Tournour? 

TOURNOUR 

They  used  to  take  me  out  for  walks  when  I  was  a 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  1  L5 

little  fellow,  but  they  never  got  me  oul  into  the 
country  since. 

I  suppose,  now  thai  you're  in  the  porter's  lodge,  you 
watch  every  one  thai  goes  up  and  down  the  road? 
ournohb 
It   gratifies   me  to  do  so  —  would  you  believe   that 

HOW? 
IIKISTY 

You  know  a  lot,  Felix  Tournour. 

OURNOl  B 

We're  told  to  advance  in  knowledge,  young  fellow. 
How  long  is  Tom  Muskcrry  the  Master  of  Garrisowen 
Workhouse? 

HK1STV 

Thirty  years  this  sprin 

INOUB 

Twenty-nine  years. 

IIIMSTY 

He's  here  tliirty  years  according  to  the  books. 

•<»l  BNOUB 

Twenty-nine  years. 
HBIBTI 

Thirty  years. 

B 

Twenty-nine  years.     I   was  horn   in   the  workhouse, 
and  I  mind  when  the  Master  came  in  to  it.     Whist 
now,  here  lit-  is,  and  time  for  him. 
[He  falls  into  an  officious  manner.     He  closes  up  the 
stove  (i)hl  •puis  bucket  away.     Then  he  g  r  t<>  desk, 

and,  with  his  /.«  t  on  the  rung  of  th>  ■',  he  turns 

tin  n  full.     Christy  CI  I  of  armchair, 

and  begins  to  arrange  the  \  on  wooden 


146  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

chair.  The  corridor  door  opens.  The  man  who  appears  i 
is  not  the  Master,  however.  He  is  the  blind  piper,  Myles 
Gorman,  who  is  dressed  in  the  pauper  garb.  Myles 
Gorman  is  a  Gael  of  the  West  of  Ireland,  with  a  face 
full  of  intellectual  vigour.  He  is  about  sixty,  and  carries 
himself  with  energy.  His  face  is  pale  and  he  has  a 
fringe  of  a  white  beard.  The  eye-balls  in  his  head  are 
contracted,  but  it  is  evident  he  has  some  vestiges  of  sight. 
Before  the  others  are  aware  who  he  is,  he  has  advanced 
into  the  room.  He  stands  there  now  turning  the  atten- 
tive face  of  the  blind. 

GORMAN 

Mister  Muskerry!    Are  you  there,  Mister  Muskerry? 

TOURNOUR 

What  do  you  want,  my  oul'  fellow? 
gorman  (with  a  puzzled  look) 

Well,  now,  I've  a  favour  to  ask  of  your  honour. 

TOURNOUR 

Be  off  out  of  this  to  your  ward. 

GORMAN 

Is  that  Mister  Muskerry? 

CHRISTY 

Mister  Muskerry  isn't  here. 

GORMAN 

And  who  am  I  talking  to? 

CHRISTY 

You  are  talking  to  Felix  Tournour. 

GORMAN 

Felix  Tournour!     Ay,  ay.     Good  night,  Felix  Tour- 
nour.    When  will  the  Master  be  back? 
tournour  (coming  to  him) 

Not  till  you're  out  of  this,  and  back  in  your  ward. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  1  17 

c;oi;man 

Wasn't  there  a  boy  speaking  to  me? 
■hrxsti 

Yea  {speaking  as  if  to  a  deaf  man)    The  Master  will 

be  going  tin*  rounds  in  a   while,   and  you  can  speak 

to  him  in  the  ward. 

I've  a  favour  to  ask  the  Master,  and  I  don't  want  to 
ask  it  before  the  others.  (To  Christy)  Will  the 
Master  be  here  soon,  a  vick  vig?  ' 

jtournoub  {taking  him  by  the  shoulders) 

Here,  now,  come  on,  this  is  your  way  out. 

[//<•  turns  Gorman  to  the  door.     As  he  is  putting  him 

out  'Thomas  Musketry  enters 

loUBNOUB 

This  ouT  fellow  came  into  the  office,  and  I  was  lead- 
in-  him  back  into  his  ward. 

IfUSKERBT 

Leave  the  man  alone. 

\_Toiimonr  retreats  to  the  stove  am!  lakes  up  the  bucket; 
after  a  look  behind  he  goes  out  and  closes  the  corridor 
door.  Christy  Clarke  fakes  the  periodicals  over  to  table 
ami  sits  down.  Myles  Gorman  has  been  eager  and 
attentive.  'Thomas  Musketry  stands  with  his  hack  to  the 
stove.  He  is  on  r  six///.  He  is  a  large  man,  fleshy  in 
face  and  figure,  sanguine  and  benevolent  in  disposition. 
He  has  the  looks  and  movements  of  one  in  authority.  II is 
hair  is  white  and  long;  his  silver  beard  is  trimmed.  II is 
clothes  ore  loosely  fitting.  II<  wears  no  overcoat,  but 
has  a  white  knitted  muffler  round  his  neck.  He  has 
on  a  black,  broad-brimmed  hat,  and  carries  a  wallciwj- 
sti<-k. 

1   .1  ndtic  I  little  son. 


148  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

Well,  my  good  man? 

GORMAN 

I'm  here  to  ask  a  favour  from  you,  Master. 

MUSKERRY 

You  should  proffer  your  request  when  I'm  in  the 
ward.    However,  I'm  ready  to  give  you  my  attention. 

GORMAN 

I'm  a  blinded  man,  Master,  and  when  you're  in  the 
ward  I  can't  get  you  by  yourself  conveniently.  I 
can't  come  up  to  you  like  the  other  ouT  men  and 
speak  to  you  private  like. 

MUSKERRY 

Well,  now,  what  can  I  do  for  you? 
gorman  (eagerly) 

They  tell  me  that  to-morrow's  the  market-day,  and  I 
thought  that  you  might  give  me  a  pass,  and  let  me 
go  out  about  the  town. 

MUSKERRY 

We'll  consider  it,  Gorman. 

GORMAN 

Master,  let  me  out  in  the  town  on  the  market-day. 

MUSKERRY 

We  couldn't  let  you  out  to  play  your  pipes  through 
the  town. 

GORMAN 

I'm  not  thinking  of  the  music  at  all,  Master,  but  to 
be  out  in  the  day  and  to  feel  the  throng  moving  about, 
and  to  be  talking  to  the  men  that  do  be  on  the  roads. 

MUSKERRY 

We'll  consider  it,  Gorman.  (He  takes  off  muffler,  and 
puts  it  on  bach  of  armchair) 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  1  19 

GORM  w 

Well,  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  your  honour,  Good 
oighl  bo  you.  Master.  {He  passes  Musketry  and  goes 
towards  the  door.    Musketry  has  been  regarding  him) 

MISKKKKV 

Tell    me    this,    Gorman,    were    you    always    on    the 
roads? 
gokm  \\ 

I  was  driving  cattle,  and  I  was  dealing  in  horses. 
Then  I  look  up  with  an  oul'  man,  and  he  taught  me 
the  pipes.  I'm  playing  the  pipes  ever  since,  and  that's 
thirty  years  ago.  Well,  the  eyes  began  to  wither  up 
on  me,  and  now  I've  only  a  stim  of  sight.  I'm  a 
blinded  man  from  this  out,  Master. 

KUBKERRT 

And  what  will  you  do? 

GORMAN 

Oh,  sure  the  roads  of  Ireland  are  before  me  when  I 
leave  t his ;  I'll  he  playing  my  bit  of  music.  {lie 
moves  to  the  door) 

MISKI'.KKY 

Tell  me;  have  you  any  family  yourself? 
GORMAN 

Ne'er  a  chick  nor  child  belonging  to  me.  Ne'er  a 
woman  lay  by  me.  I  wenl  the  road  by  myself.  Will 
you  think  of  what  I  asked  you.  Blaster? 

Mi  SK]  :;i;v 

I'll  consider  it. 

GORMAN 

Good  night    to  your  honour.     Remember  my  name, 
Blaster-    Gorman,  Myles  Gorman. 
[Musketry  stands  looking  after  Gorman. 


150  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


MUSKERRY 

Now,  Christy  Clarke,  I  consider  that  the  man  gone 
out  is  a  very  exceptional  man. 

CHRISTY 

Is  it  Myles  Gorman? 

MUSKERRY 

Yes.  I'd  even  say  that,  considering  his  station  in 
life,  Myles  Gorman  is  a  very  superior  man. 

CHRISTY 

They  say  he's  not  a  good  musician. 

MUSKERRY 

And  maybe  he's  not.  I  consider,  however,  that 
there's  great  intelligence  in  his  face.  He  stands 
before  you,  and  you  feel  that  he  has  the  life  of  a  young 
colt,  and  then  you're  bound  to  think  that,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  he's  blind  and  a  wanderer,  the  man 
has  not  wasted  his  life.  {Musk&rry  settles  himself  in 
the  armchair) 

CHRISTY 

Will  you  give  leave  for  to-morrow? 

MUSKERRY 

No,  Christy,  I  will  not. 

CHRISTY 

Why  not,  Mister  Muskerry? 

MUSKERRY 

That  man  would  break  bounds  and  stay  away. 

CHRISTY 

Do  you  think  he  would? 

MUSKERRY 

He'd  fly  off,  like  the  woodquest  flying  away  from  the 
tame  pigeons. 

CHRISTY 

He  and  his  brother  had  a  farm  between  them.     His 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  151 


brother  was  married,  and  one  day  the  brother  told 
Myles  to  go  to  Dublin  to  see  a  comrade  <>!'  hi>>  who 
was  sick.  Myles  was  home  in  a  week,  and  when  he 
came  back  he  found  thai  his  brother  had  sold  ihe 
place  and  was  gone  OUt  of  the  country. 
MUSKERRY 

His  brother  did  wrong,  but  he  didn't  do  so  much  wrong 
to  Myles  Gorman. 
CHRISTY 

How  is  that,  Mister  Muskerry? 

Ml  SKERRY 

He  sent  Myles  Gorman  to  his  own  life.  lie's  a  man 
who  went  his  own  way  always;  a  man  who  aever 
had  any  family  nor  any  affairs;  a  man  far  different 
from  nu\  Christy  Clarke.  I  was  always  in  the  middle 
of  affairs.  Then,  too,  I  busied  myself  about  other 
people.  It  was  for  the  best,  I  think;  but  that's 
finished.  On  the  desk  under  your  hand  is  a  letter, 
and  I  want  you  to  bring  it  to  me. 

ciii,1  joing  through  papers  idly) 

"1  am  much  obliged  for  your  favour — " 

Mi   SKERRY 

Thai'-  not  it. 
Christy  {reading  another  Idler) 

"I  am  about  to  add  to  the  obligations  under  which  I 

stand  to  you,  by  recommending   to  your  notice  my 

grandson,  Albert  Crilly — " 

Ml  3KEH 

That's  the  letter.  It'-  tin-  last  of  its  kind.  Bring  it 
to  mc      '        '//  Clarke  brings  over  li  r)    There 

com.-  a  turn  in  the  blood  and  a  turn  in  the  mind. 
Christy.  This  while  Lack  I've  been  going  out  to  the 
country  instead  oi  into  the  town,  and  coming  back 


152  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

here  in  the  evenings  I've  seen  the  workhouse  with 
the  big  wall  around  it,  and  the  big  gate  going  into  it, 
and  I've  said  to  myself  that  Thomas  Muskerry  ought 
to  be  as  secure  and  contented  here  as  if  he  was  in  his 
own  castle. 

CHRISTY 

And  so  you  ought,  Mister  Muskerry. 

MUSKERRY 

Look  round  at  the  office,  Christy.  I've  made  it  as 
fit  for  me  as  the  nest  for  the  wren.  I'll  spend  a  few 
more  years  here,  and  then  I'll  go  out  on  pension.  I 
won't  live  in  the  town.  I've  seen  a  place  in  the  country 
I'd  like,  and  the  people  will  be  leaving  it  in  a  year  or 
two. 

CHRISTY 

Where  is  it,  Mister  Muskerry? 

MUSKERRY 

I'll  say  no  more  about  it  now,  but  it's  not  far  from 
this,  and  its  near  the  place  where  I  was  reared. 

CHRISTY 

And  so  you'll  go  back  to  your  own  place? 

MUSKERRY 

As  Oliver  Goldsmith  my  fellow  county  man,  and  I 
might  almost  say,  my  fellow  parishioner,  says  — 
What's  this  the  lines  are  about  the  hare,  Christy? 

CHRISTY 

"And  like  the  Hare  whom  Hounds  and  Horns  pursue 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew." 

MUSKERRY 

Aye. 

"And  like  the  Hare  whom  Hounds  and  Horns  pur- 
sue"—  {The  clock  strikes  nine) 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  153 

CHRISTY 

You  weren't   OD  the  rounds  yet? 

muskerry  (startled) 
Would  you  believe  it,  now,  it  was  nearly  passing  my 
mind  to  go  on  the  rounds?  (He  rises,  putting  the 
letter  in  his  pocket)  Where's  that  fellow,  Albert 
Crilly?  He  was  to  have  been  in  lure  to  give  me  a 
hand  with  the  abstracts.  Christy  Clarke,  go  down 
to  Miss  Coghlan's  and  get  me  two  novelettes.  Bring 
me  up  two  nice  love  stories,  and  be  here  when  I  come 
hack. 

[Christ;/  Clarke  takes  his  cap  off  rack  and  (joes  out. 
Thomas  Muskerry  puts  on  his  scarf,  goes  to  the  rack 
and  fakes  down  the  bunch  of  keys.  As  he  is  going  out 
I  lix  Toumour  enters  with  a  bucket  of  coal.  He  carries 
it  over  to  the  store. 

Mi  SKERRY 

Now,  Toumour,  sweep  up  this  place. 
[Thomas   Muskerry  goes  out   by  corridor  door.     Felix 
Toumour  takes  brush  from   under  desk,  left,  and  begins 
to  sweep   in   the  direction   of  corridor  door. 
TOl  RNOUB 

Sweeping,  -weeping!  I'll  run  out  of  the  house  some 
day  on  account  of  the  work  I've  to  do  for  Master 
Thomas  Muskerry.  (lie  leans  on  his  brush  in  front  of 
store)  I  know  why  you're  going  for  walks  in  the 
country,  my  oul'  cod.  There's  them  in  town  thai 
you've  go1  enough  of.  You  don't  wanl  to  go  bail 
inr  Madam  Daughter,  nor  for  Count  Crofton  Crilly, 
your  son-in-law,  n<>r  for  the  Masters  and  Mistress 
all  right,  my  oul'  cod-fish.  Thai  I  may  see  them  lay- 
ing you  "Hi  "ii  the  flags  of  Hell.     (He  puts  the  brush 

standing  upright,  and  speaks  to  it) 


154  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

"The  Devil  went  out  for  a  ramble  at  night, 
Through  Garrisowen  Union  to  see  every  sight. 
The  ouT  men  were  dreaming  of  meat  to  come  near 

them, 
And  the  Devil  cocked  ears  at  the  words  for  to  hear 

them. 
'Twice  a  year  we  get  meat,'  said  the  toothless  ouP 

men, 
'Oh,  Lord  send  the  meat  won't  be  too  tough  again.' 
To  clear  away  dishes  Mick  Fogarty  goes, 
May  the  Devil  burn  the  nails  off  his  toes. 
Deep  dreaming  that  night  of  fast  days  before, 
Sagging  the  walls  with  the  pull  of  his  snore, 
In  his  chamber  above  Thomas  Muskerry  lay  snug, 
When  the  Devil  this  summons  roared  in  his  lug  — 
\_The  door  of  the  Master's  apartments  is  opened  and 
Albert  Crilly  enters.     Albert   Crilly  is  a  young  man, 
who  might  be  a  bank  clerk  or  a  medical  student.    He  is 
something  of  a  dude,  but  has  a  certain  insight  and  wit. 
albert  {lighting  a  cigarette) 

Is  the  grandparent  here,  Tournour? 

TOURNOUR 

He's  gone  on  the  rounds,  Mister  Albert. 

ALBERT 

What  time  was  he  up  this  morning? 

TOURNOUR 

He  was  late  enough.    He  wasn't  up  in  time  to  come 
to  Mass  with  us. 

ALBERT 

The  old  man  will  get  into  trouble. 

TOURNOUR 

If  the  nuns  hear  about  it. 


THOMAS   MI  SKERRY  155 

ALBERT 

He'll  have  to  give  the  whole  thing  up  soon. 
TOURNOUH 

He's  well  off  that  can  gel  somebody  else  to  do  the 
work  for  him.    {He  continues  to  sweep  towards  corridor) 

ALBERT 

Tournour,  you're  a  damned  clever  fellow.  I  heard  a 
pieee  of  yours  yesterday  that  I  thought  was  damned 
good. 

TOURNOUR 

Was  it  a  rhyme? 

ALBERT 

It  was  something  called  "The  Devil's  Rambles." 
TOURNOi  B  {faking  a  step  towards  him)  Don't  let  the 
boss  hear,  and  I'll  tell  it  to  you,  Mr.  Albert.  {He 
holds  the  brush  in  his  hands  and  is  about  to  begin  the 
recitation  when  Qrofton  Crilly  enters  from  the  Master's 
apartments.  Crofton  Crilly  has  a  presentable  appear- 
ance. He  is  big  and  well  made,  has  a  fair  beard  and 
blur  eyes.  A  pipe  is  always  in  his  mouth.  He  is  a 
loiterer,  a  talker,  a  listener) 
C  RILLY 

Are  you  going  to  finish  the  abstracts  to-night,  Albert? 

ALBERT 

I  believe  I  am.    Go  on  with  "'The  Devil's  Rambles," 
Tournour. 
CRILLY 

I  heard  it  in  Keegan's.    It's  damn  good. 

TOURNOUR 

I  don't  like  saying  it  before  Mister  Crilly. 
crilly  (with  easy  contempt) 

Go  on  with  it,  man;  I'll  leave  a  pint  in  Keegan's  for 
you. 


15G  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

TOURNOUR 

Well,  you  mightn't  like  it. 

CRILLY 

Have  done  talking  and  go  on  with  it. 
tournour  (reciting)  — 

"In  his  chamber  above  —  a  -  a  person  lay  snug, 
When  the  Devil  this  summons  roared  in  his  lug  — 
'Get  up,'  said  the  Devil,  'and  swear  you'll  be  true, 
And  the  oath  of  allegiance  I'll  tender  anew. 
You'll  have  pork,  veal,  and  lamb,  mutton-chops,  fowl 

and  fish, 
Cabbage  and  carrots  and  leeks  as  you  wish. 
No  fast  days  to  you  will  make  visitation, 
For  your  sake  the  town  will  have  dispensation. 
Long  days  you  will  have,  without  envy  or  strife, 
And  when  you  depart  you'll  find  the  same  life, 
And  in  the  next  world  you'll  have  your  will  and  your 

sway, 
With  a  Poorhouse  to  govern  all  your  own  way, 
And  I'll  promise  you  this;   to  keep  up  your  state, 
You'll  have  Felix  Tournour  to  watch  at  the  gate. ' " 

CRILLY 

That's  damn  good.  I  must  get  a  copy  of  the  whole  of 
it  to  show  at  Keegan's. 

\_Tournour  has  swept  as  far  as  the  corridor  door.  He 
opens  it  and  sweeps  down  the  passage.  He  goes  out 
and  closes  door. 

CRILLY 

That's  a  damn  clever  fellow.  (He  becomes  anxious, 
as  with  a  troubled  recollection.  He  goes  to  the  little 
cabinet,  opens  it,  and  takes  out  a  bottle  of  whisky  and  a 
glass.  He  pours  some  whisky  into  the  glass,  and  re- 
mains looking  at  himself  in  the  mirror.    He  smooths  his 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  167 

beard,  lie  goes  to  the  arm  chair  with  the  glass  of  whisky, 
the  anxious  expression  still  on  his  face)  This  is  a 
cursed  town.    (He  drinks) 

kliBEBT 

Every  town  in  Ireland  is  a  cursed  town. 

CHILLI 

lint  this  is  an  extraordinarily  cursed  town.  Every- 
body's in  debt  to  everybody  else.  I  don't  know  what's 
to  be  done.  Now,  imagine  that  fellow,  James  Covey, 
failing  in  business  and  getting  clear  out  of  the  town. 

IkLBERT 

Covey  seems  to  have  done  it  well. 
CHILLY 

God  knows  how  many  he  has  stuck. 
&LBEHT 

Well,  he  didn't  stick  the  Crillys  for  anything. 
CHILLY 

Albert,   you   don't   know   how   these  financial    things 

work  out.    Do  you  think  would  his  brother  settle? 

VLBERT 

Settle  with  whom? 
chilly 
Well  .  .  .  with  any  of  the  .  .  .  any  of  the  people 
that  have  ...  I  don't  know.  It's  a  cursed  town. 
If  I  had  joined  the  police  at  your  age,  I'd  have  a 
pension  by  this,  and  I  mightn't  care  for  any  of 
them. 

ILBEBT 

I  wish  I  had  a  job  and  I'd  wait  on  the  pension. 

CHILLY 
Oh,   you'll   l><-  all    right.     The  grandfather  is  seeing 
about  your  job. 


158  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


- 


ALBERT 

If  the  grandparent  gets  me  that  job  I'll  want  two 
new  suits  at  least. 

CHILLY 

Ton  my  soul,  Albert,  I  don't  know  what's  to  be 
done.  (His  mind  wanders  off)  I  suppose  the  ab- 
stracts have  to  go  out  in  the  morning. 

ALBERT 

They  have.  And  damn  all  the  old  man  has  done  to 
them. 

CRILLY 

The  Guardians  hear  that  he's  late  in  the  mornings, 
Albert,  and  some  of  them  are  beginning  to  question 
his  fitness  to  check  the  stores. 

ALBERT 

;    The  old  man  ought  to  resign. 

CRILLY 

I  suppose  he  ought.  I'm  not  wishing  for  his  resignation 
myself,  Albert.  You  know  your  mother  regards  it  as 
a  settled  thing  that  he  should  come  and  live  with  us. 

ALBERT 

The  mother  and  Anna  are  preparing  for  the  event. 

CRILLY 

How's  that,  Albert? 

ALBERT 

Mother  has  James  Scollard  in  her  eye  for  the  new 
Master. 

CRILLY 

Right  enough!  Scollard  would  get  it,  too,  and  then 
he  would  marry  Anna. 

ALBERT 

That's  the  arrangement,  I  expect. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  159 

CHILLY 

Ii  mightn'1  l>e  had.  ScoIIard  mightn'1  want  Nancy's 
money  under  that  arrangement.  Still  I  don't  like 
the  idea  of  the  old  man  living  in  the  house. 

ALB] 

The  mother  would  never  think  of  letting  him  lake 
himself  and  his  pension  anywhere  else. 

CRILLT 

I  don't  think  she  would. 
ALBERT 

I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  did  go  somewhere  else. 
I  hear  he  often  goes  up  to  that  collage  in  Stradrina. 

KII.I.Y 

VYhat  cottage,  Albert? 

ALBERT 

Briar  Cottage.     I  hear  he  sits  down  there,  and  talks 

of  coming  to  live  in  the  place. 
•iui.i.y  {warningly) 

Albert,  don't  clap  hands  behind  the  bird.    Take  my 

word,  and  say  nothing  about   it. 
ULBEBT 

All  right. 

BILLS 

We'd  have  no  comfort  in  the  house  if  your  mother's 
mind  was  distracted. 

[Mrs.   ('rill ij  rulers  from  corridor.      She  is  a   WODian   of 

'//,  dressed  in  a  tailor-made  costume.  She  has  search- 
ing eyes.  There  is  something  of  hysteria  about  her 
mouth,    she  has  been  good-looking. 

i.v 
Good  night,  Marianne. 
IBS.    I  i. ii  i.v 

An-  you  finishing  the  abstracts,  Albert? 


160  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

ALBERT 

I'm  working  at  them.    It's  a  good  job  we  didn't  leave 
the  old  man  much  latitude  for  making  mistakes. 
Mrs.  crilly  (closing  door) 
He'll  have  to  resign. 

CRILLY 

Good  God,  Marianne.     (He  rises) 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Well.  Let  him  be  sent  away  without  a  pension.  Of 
course,  he  can  live  with  us  the  rest  of  his  life  and  give 
us  nothing  for  keeping  him. 

CRILLY 

I  don't  know  what's  in  your  mind  at  all,  Marianne. 
(He  crosses  over  to  the  cabinet,  opens  it,  and  fills  out 
another  glass  of  whisky) 

ALBERT 

Let  the  old  man  do  what  suits  himself. 
crilly  (coming  back  to  stove) 

Do,  Marianne.  Let  him  do  what  suits  himself.  For 
the  present. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

For  pity's  sake  put  down  that  glass  and  listen  to 
what  I  have  to  say. 

CRILLY 

What's  the  matter,  Marianne  ? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

James  Scollard  came  to  me  to-day,  and  he  told  me 
about  the  things  that  are  noticed.  .  .  .  The  nuns 
notice  them,  the  Guardians  notice  them.  He  misses 
Mass.  He  is  late  on  his  rounds.  He  can't  check  the 
stores  that  are  coming  into  the  house.  He  may  get 
himself  into  such  trouble  that  he'll  be  dismissed  with 
only  an  apology  for  a  pension,  or  with  no  pension  at  all. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  1G1 

HII.I.V 

I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done. 

IBS.    '  BILLY 

[f  he  could  be  ^rot  l«>  resign  now  James  Scollard  would 
have  a  good  chance  of  becoming  Workhouse  Master. 

He  would  marry  Anna,  and  wo  would  still  have  some 
hand  in  the  affairs  of  the  Hon 

BILLY 

Yes,  yes.     I  think  that  Scollard  could  make  a  place 
for  himself. 

BT 

The  old  man  won't  be  anxious  to  retire 
lk-.    I  BILLY 

Why  shouldn't  he  retire  when  his  time  is  up? 

LBERT 
Well,  b   ;•<    he  is  what's  called  a  potentate.     He  won't 
care  to  come  down  and  live  over  Crilly's  sh< 

'  I.V 

And  where  else  would  he  live  in  the  name  of  God? 

*         UT 

He  won't  want  to  live  with  our  crowd. 
IBS.    I      ELLY 

What  crowd?  The  hoys  can  be  sent  t<>  school,  you'll 
be  on  your  situation,  and  Anna  will  he  away.  (£ 
seals  herself  in  the  armchair)  I  don't  know  what 
Albert  means  when  he  says  that  the  Master  would 
DOt  he  content  to  live  with  US.  It  was  always  settled 
that  he  would  come  to  US  when  his  service  was  over. 
{Albert,  who  has  been  going  over  the  books,  has  met 
something  that  surprises  him.  lie  draws  (rilh/  to  the 
desk.     The  two  ;/<>  over  the  papers,  \  '  and  excited. 

Anna  (rilh/  enters  from  corridor.     She  is  n  handsome 
girl  of  about  nineteen  or  twenty*  irith  a  rich  complexion, 


162  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

dark  hair  and  eyes.  She  is  well  dressed,  and  wears  a 
cap  of  dark  fur.  She  stands  at  the  stove,  behind  her 
mother,  holding  her  hands  over  the  stove.  Mrs.  Crilly 
watches  the  pair  at  the  desk. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

We  can't  think  of  allowing  a  pension  of  fifty  pounds  a 
year  to  go  out  of  our  house.  Where  will  we  get  money 
to  send  the  boys  to  school? 

ANNA 

Mother.    Grandfather  is  going  to  live  away  from  us. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Why  do  you  repeat  what  Albert  says? 

ANNA 

I  didn't  hear  Albert  say  anything. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Then,  what  are  you  talking  about? 

ANNA 

Grandfather  goes  to  Martin's  cottage  nearly  every 
evening,  and  stays  there  for  hours.  They'll  be  leaving 
the  place  in  a  year  or  two,  and  Grandfather  was 
saying  that  he  would  take  the  cottage  when  he 
retired  from  the  Workhouse. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

When  did  you  hear  this? 

ANNA 

This  evening.    Delia  Martin  told  me. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

And  that's  the  reason  why  he  has  kept  away  from  us. 
He  goes  to  strangers,  and  leaves  us  in  black  ignorance 
of  his  thought. 
{Crilly  and  Albert  are  busy  at  desk. 

CRILLY 

Well,  damn  it  all  — 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  163 

LBERT 

Bere's  the  voucher. 

BILLY 

God!     I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done. 

LBERT 

It'»  a  matter  of  fifty  tons. 

\_Alberi  turns  round  deliberately,  leaving  his  father  going 
through  the  papers  in  desperate  eagerness.  Albert  takes 
a  cigarette  from  behind  his  air,  takes  a  match-box  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  strikes  a  light.  He  (joes  towards 
door  of  apartments.    Mrs.  Crilly  rist  % 

lbert  (his  hand  on  the  handle  of  door) 
Well  so-long. 

[RS.    (  BELLY 

Where  arc  you  going? 
LBERT 

I'm  leaving  you  to  talk  it  over  with  the  old  man. 

[Mrs.  Crilly  looks  from  Albert  to  Crilly. 
BILL! 

The  Master  has  let  himself  in  for  something  serious, 

Marianne. 
LBERT 

It's  a  matter  of  fifty  pounds.  The  old  man  has  let 
the  Guardians  pay  for  a  hundred  tons  of  coal  when 
only  fifty  were  delivered. 

[RS.    '  BILLY 

[s  that  so,  ( Irofton? 
billy 

II  looks  like  it,  Marianne. 
LBERT 

There  were  fifty  tons  of  coal  already  in  stores,  hut 
the  Governor  didn't  take  them  into  account.  That 
cute   hoy.   James   Covey,    delivered    fifty    tons   and 


164  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

charged  for  the  hundred.  The  old  man  passed  on  the 
certificate,  and  the  Guardians  paid  Covey.  They 
helped  him  to  his  passage  to  America.  {He  opens 
door  and  goes  through) 

MRS.    CRILLY 

They  will  dismiss  him  —  dismiss  him  without  a 
pension. 

ANNA 

Mother.  If  he  gets  the  pension  first,  could  they  take 
it  back  from  him? 

CRILLY 

No.  But  they  could  make  him  pay  back  the  fifty 
pounds  in  instalments. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Fifty  pounds!    We  can't  afford  to  lose  fifty  pounds. 

ANNA 

Who  would  find  out  about  the  coal,  father? 

CRILLY 

The  Guardians  who  take  stock. 

ANNA 

And  how  would  they  know  at  this  time  whether 
there  was  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  tons 
there  at  first? 

CRILLY 

The  business  men  amongst  them  would  know.  How- 
ever, there  won't  be  an  inspection  for  some  time. 

ANNA 

Suppose  grandfather  had  got  his  pension  and  had 
left  the  Workhouse,  who  would  know  about  the  coal? 

CRILLY 

The  new  Workhouse  Master. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

The  new  Workhouse  Master  — 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  105 

2BILL1 

Marianne  — 

IfBS.   (  rilli 

WeU? 

;  willy 

I  think  I'll  stay  here  and  advise  the  old  man. 

MBS.    <  RILLI 

No.    <  ">  away. 

[•hilly  {at  door  of  apartments) 
After  all,  I'm  one  of  the  Guardians,  and  something 
might  be  done. 

IIBS.    <   WILLY 

Yon   <an  do  nothing.     We  can  do  nothing  for  him. 
Let  him  go  t<>  the  strangers. 
\_('rillji  goes  out. 

UBS.     <  'WILLY 

Anna! 
a  \  \  A 

Yes,  mother. 

IIBS.    '  BILLY 

The  Martins  are  not  giving  up  their  house  for  a  year 
or  two? 

ANNA 

No,  mother. 

J.     •    WILLY 

If  In*  resigns  now  his  pension  will  be  safe.     There  is 
nothing  else  against  him. 

ANN  \ 

Hut  some  one  will  find  out  the  difference  in  the  coal. 

MBS.    <  WILLY 

It's  tin-  new  Workhouse  Master  who  will  know  that. 
ann  \  [hardening) 
Hut  /'  could  n<>t  pass  such  a  thing,  mother. 


166  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


MRS.  crilly  {abandoning  a  position) 

Well,  after  your  grandfather  gets  his  pension  we 
could  make  some  arrangement  with  the  Guardians. 

ANNA 

Yes,  mother.  Hasn't  grandfather  a  hundred  pounds 
invested  in  the  shop? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

It's  not  a  hundred  pounds.    Besides,  it's  not  an  invest- 
ment. 
anna  (with  a  certain  resolution  in  her  rich  voice) 
Mother.     Is  my  money  safe? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

We  could  give  you  the  eighty  pounds,  Anna,  but  after 
that  we  would  need  all  the  help  we  could  get  from  you. 

ANNA 

Yes,  mother. 
mrs.  crilly   (again  taking  up  a  position) 

But  if  we  help  James  Scollard  to  the  place. 
anna  (with  determination) 

Whether   Mr.   Scollard  gets  the   place    or  does  not 

get  the  place,  I'll  want  my  fortune,  mother. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Very  well,  Anna.  If  we  could  get  him  to  come  over. 
.  .  .  (She  sits  in  arm  chair)  There's  a  lamb  in  Gin- 
nell's  field;  you  might  call  in  to-morrow  and  ask 
them  to  prepare  it  for  us. 

ANNA 

Then  grandfather  is  coming  to  dinner  on  Sunday? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

We  must  get  him  to  come. 

[Some  one  is  coming  up  the  passage.  Anna's  hand  is 
on  handle  of  door.  She  holds  it  open.  Thomas  Mus- 
kerry  stands  there. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  107 

IfusKERRi  I /'< ased  to  see  her) 
Well,  Nancy! 

ANNA 

Good  night,  grandpapa.    (He  regards  her  with  fondness) 

MRS.    i  Kll.I.V 

Good  night,  father. 

Ml  BKERR1 

This   Nancy   girl   is  looking  remarkably  well.     (He 

turns  to  Mrs.  (rill//)  Well,  ma'am,  and  how  arc 
yon?  I've  written  thai  letter  for  that  rascally  Albert. 
\_IIc  leaves  his  stick  on  table  and  goes  to  desk.  Mrs. 
Crilh/  watches  him.  Anna  comes  to  her.  Musketry 
addresses  an  envelope  with  some  labour.  Mrs.  Crilh/ 
notices  a  tress  of  Anna's  hair  fulling  doim.  Anna 
kneels  down  beside  her.  She  takes  off  Anna's  cap, 
'les  up  the  hair,  and  puis  the  cap  on  again,  liming 
addressed  the  envelope,  Muskerry  holds  up  a  piece  of 
wax  to  the  gas.  He  seals  the  letter,  then  holds  it  out. 
Ml  9KERRY 

Here's  the  Letter  now,  and  maybe  it's  the  last  thing 
I  can  do  for  any  of  ye. 

IfBS.    I   KII.I.Y 

Yon  arc  very  good. 
^Musketry  goes  to  them. 

IfUSKERRT 

In  !i  and  ont  of  season  I've  put  myself  at  your 

service.    I  <  an  d<»  no  more  for  ye. 

[Sin     takes    the    letter   from    him.      His    resentment    is 
aking  down.    1I<   sits  on  chair  beside  armchair.    He 
speaks  in  a  reconciling  tone. 

Ml  -I.I  WHY 

You're  looking  well,  Marianne. 


168  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I'm  beginning  to  be  well  again. 

MUSKERRY 

And  the  infant?    What  age  is  he  now? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Little  Joseph  is  ten  months  old. 

MUSKERRY 

I  dreamt  of  him  last  night.  I  thought  Joseph  became 
a  bishop.  He  ought  to  be  reared  for  the  Church, 
Marianne.  Well,  well,  I've  nothing  more  to  do  with 
that.  (He  settles  himself  in  the  armchair)  Did 
Christy  Clarke  bring  in  the  papers? 

ANNA 

Christy  Clarke  hasn't  been  here  at  all,  grandpapa. 

MUSKERRY 

Stand  here  till  I  look  at  you  Nancy.  (Anna  comes  left 
of  stove)  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  were  the 
best-looking  girl  in  the  town,  Nancy. 

anna  (without  any  coquettishness) 

Anna  Crilly  is  not  going  into  competition  with  the 
others.  (She  wraps  the  muffler  round  him,  then  kisses 
him)  Good  night,  grandpapa.  (She  goes  out  by 
corridor  door) 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Thank  you  for  the  letter  for  Albert. 

MUSKERRY 

I  think,  Marianne,  it's  the  last  thing  I  can  do  for 
you  or  yours. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Well,  we  can't  tell  a  bad  story  of  you,  and  things  are 
well  with  us. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  169 

MUSKERR1 

I'm  glad  to  hear  that.    I  was  thinking  of  going  t<>  see 
you  next  week. 

MRS.    CRELLY 

Come  to  dinner  on  Sunday.     We  arc  having  a  lamb. 
MUSKERRY 

What  sort  is  the  lamb? 

MBS.    I  BELLY 

Oh,  a  very  young  lamb.    Anna  will  make  the  dressing 
for  you. 

Ml -KERRY 

I'll   send  round  a  bottle  of  wine.     Perhaps  we'll  be 
in  the  way  of  celebrating  something  for  Albert. 
MRS.    CHILLY 

Nancy  was  saying  that  you  might  like  to  stay  a  few 
days  with  us. 

MUSKERRY 

Stay  a  few  days!    How  could  I  do  that,  ma'am? 
MBS.    CBELLY 

You   could   gel    somebody  to  look   after  the   House. 
James  Scollard  would  do  it,  and  you  could  stay  out 
for  a  few  day-. 
MUSKERRY 

Well,    indeed,    I'll   do   no   such    thing.      What   put   it 
into  your  head  to  ask  me  this? 

MRS.    *  BELLY 

Nancy  said  — 

Ml  SKERRY 

bet   the  girl  speak  for  herself.     What's  in  your  mind, 
woman? 
MRS.    CRELLY 

Well,  you're  not  looking  well. 


170 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


MUSKERRY 

I'm  as  well  as  ever  I  was. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Others  do  not  think  so. 

MUSKERRY 

I  suppose  you  heard  I  was  late  a  few  mornings.  No 
matter  for  that.  I'm  as  well  as  ever  I  was.  No  more 
talk  about  it;    I'm  going  on  with  the  work.      (He 

rises  and  goes  over  to  desk) 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I'm  sorry  to  say  that  no  one  else  thinks  as  well  of 
you  as  you  do  yourself. 

MUSKERRY 

Well,  I'll  hear  no  more  about  it,  and  that's  enough 
about  it.     Why  isn't  Albert  Crilly  here? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Well,  he  was  here,  and  he  is  coming  back. 

MUSKERRY 

I'll  want  him.  {He  takes  up  a  card  left  on  the  desk. 
He  turns  round  and  reads  — "You  have  let  the  Guard- 
ians pay  for  a  hundred  tons.  James  Covey  delivered 
only  fifty  tons  of  coal."    Who  left  this  here? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I  suppose  Albert  left  it  for  you. 

MUSKERRY 

The  impudent  rascal.  How  dare  he  address  himself 
like  that  to  me?    (He  throws  card  on  table) 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Perhaps  he  found  something  out  in  the  books. 

MUSKERRY 

No  matter  whether  he  did  or  not,  he'll  have  to  have 
respect  when  he  addresses  me.  Anyway  it's  a  lie  — 
a  damn  infernal  lie.    I  was  in  the  stores  the  other  day, 


THOMAS    MrSKKRRY  171 

and  there  was  eighty  ton-,  of  crfal  still  there.  Cer- 
tainly twenty  tons  had  bees  taken  oul  of  it.  The 
Provision  (luck  Account  will  show.  (He  takes  up  a 
book  and  I  urns  round.  He  goes  back  some  pages.  Ilr 
lets  the  hook  full,  He  stands  there  helpless)  I  suppose 
you  all  are  righl  In  your  judgment  of  me.  I'm  at  my 
failing  time.  I'll  have  l»>  leave  this  without  pension 
or  prospect.    They'll  send  me  away. 

MRS.    I   RILLY 

They  had  nothing  against  you  before  this. 

MUSKERRY 

I  was  spoken  of  as  the  pattern  for  the  officials  of 

Ireland. 
MBS.  (  billy 

If  you  resigned  now  — ■ 

MUSKERBY 

Before  this  comes  out.  (Ilr  looks  for  help)  Marianne, 
it  would  be  like  the  blow  to  the  struck  ox  if  I  lost  my 

pension. 

MBS.    I  RILLY 

If  you  managed  to  get  the  pension  you  could  pay  the 
Guardians  hack  in  a  lump  sum. 

Ml  SKEBBY 

If  I  resigned  now,  where  would  I  go  to? 

MBS.    I  RILLY 

It  was  always  understood  that  you  would  stay  with 
us. 

Ml  SKEBBY 

No,  Marianne. 

MBS.    (  RILLY 

You'll  have  the  place  to  yourself.    The  hoys  will  be 
ing  to  s.hool,  and  Albert  will  be  away,  too.    Anna 
and  myself  will  look  after  you. 


172  THOIVIAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

I  could  stay  for  a  while. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Oh,  well,  if  you  have  a  better  place  to  go  — 

MUSKERRY 

Remember  what  I  said,  Marianne.  I've  worked  for 
you  and  yours,  in  season  and  out  of  season.  There 
should  be  no  more  claims  on  me. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

There  are  no  more  claims  on  you. 

MUSKERRY 

I'm  willing  to  leave  in  the  shop  what  I  put  into  the 
shop.  Let  Anna  know  that  it  will  come  to  her  from 
me.  I'll  write  to  the  Guardians  to-night  and  I'll 
send  in  my  resignation.  I  venture  to  think  that 
they'll  know  their  loss. 

[Mrs.  Crilly  goes  out  quietly  by  corridor  door. 
muskerry  {by  himself) 

And  I  had  made  this  place  as  fit  for  me  as  the  nest 
for  the  wren.  Wasn't  he  glad  to  write  that  card,  the 
impudent  rascal,  with  his  tongue  in  his  cheek?  I'll 
consider  it  again.  I  won't  leave  this  place  till  it  fits 
myself  to  leave  it. 
[Christy  Clarke  enters  by  corridor  door  with  papers. 

MUSKERRY 

They  want  me  to  resign  from  this  place,  Christy. 

CHRISTY 

You're  thirty  years  here!  Aren't  you,  Mister  Mus- 
kerry? 

MUSKERRY 

Thirty  years,  thirty  years.  Ay,  Christy,  thirty  years; 
it's  a  long  time.  And  I'm  at  my  failing  time.  Per- 
haps I'm  not  able  to  do  any  more.     Day  after  day 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  173 

there  would  be  troubles  here,  and  I  wouldn't  be  able 
to  face  them.  And  in  the  end  I  mighl  lose  my  posi- 
tion.    I'm  going  to  write  out  my  resignation.     (He 

goes  to  the  desk  and  writes.      Christ  ij  is  at  table.     Mus- 

lcerry  turns  round  after  writing) 

ill  SKEBRY 

No  one  that  tomes  here  can  have  the  same  heart 
for  the  poor  that  I  had.  I  was  earning  in  the  year  of 
the  famine.     I   saw  able  men  struggling  to  get   the 

work  that  would  bring  them  a  handful  of  Indian 
meal.  And  I  saw  the  little  children  waiting  on  the 
roads  for  relief.  (He  turns  had:  and  goes  on  with  letter. 
Suddenly  a  bell  in  the  House  begins  to  toll)  What's 
that  for,  Christy? 

3HRI8TT 
Malachi  O'Rourk,  the  Prince,  as  they  called  him,  is 
dead. 

fUBKEBBY 

Aye,  I  gave  orders  to  toll  him  when  he  died.     He  was 
an  estated  gentleman,  and  songs  were  made  about  his 
family.      People   used    to   annoy   him,    but    he's   gone 
from   them  now.     Bring  me  a  little  whisky,  Christy. 
[Christy  goes  to  Cabinet.     Musketry  follows  him. 

!HB18TY 

There's  none  in  the  bottle.  Mister  Muskcrry. 

fUSKERBY  I  bitterly) 

No.  1  suppose  not.     And  is  that  rascal,  Albert  Crilly, 
coming  back? 
2HBISTY 

He's  coming,  Mi>ter  Muskerry.  I  left  the  novelette 
on  the  tabic.    Mi—  Coghlao  says  it'-  a  nice  love  rtory. 

"The  Heart  of  Angelina,"  it   is  'ailed. 


174  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

I  haven't  the  heart  to  read. 

\The  bell  continues  to  toll.    Christy  goes  to  door. 

CHRISTY 

Good  night,  Mister  Muskerry. 

MUSKERRY 

Good  night,  Christy. 
[Christy  Clarke  goes  out  through  apartments.     Thomas 
Muskerry  is  standing  with  hand  on  arm  chair.     The 
bell  tolls. 

CURTAIN 


ACT   SECOND 

In  Crilly  $,  a  month  later.  The  room  is  the  parlour  of 
he  shop.  A  glass  door,  right,  leads  into  the  shop,  and  the 
replace  is  above  this  door.  In  the  bach,  right,  is  a  cup- 
oard  door.    Bad:  is  a  window  looking  on  the  street.    A 

'oor,  lift,  leads  to  other  rooms.  There  is  a  tabic  near 
hop  door  an<l  a  horse-hair  sofa  back,  an  armchair  at 
We,  and  two  leather-covered  chairs  about.  Conventional 
natures  on  walls,  and  two  certificates  framed,  showing 
hat  some  one  in  the  house  has  passed  some  Intermediate 
xaminations. 

It  is  the  forenoon  of  an  April  day.  Mrs.  Crilly  is 
eated  on  sofa,  going  through  a  heap  of  account  books. 
Inna  Crilly  is  at  window.  Crofton  Crilly  enters  from  the 
hop. 

BILLY 

It's  all  right,  Marianne. 
IBS.    <  SULLY 

Well? 

SILLY 

The  Guardians  insisted  on  appointing  an  outside 
person  to  take  stock  of  the  workhouse  -tores.  It's 
the  new  regulation,  you  know.  Well,  the  job  lay 
between  young  Dobbs  and  Albert,  and  Albert  has  got 

it.     I  don't   Bay  but  it  was  a  near  thii 

IBB.    <  SILLY 
I  hope  Albert  will  know  what  to  do. 


176  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

CRILLY 

He'll  want  to  watch  the  points.    Where's  the  Master? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

He's  in  his  room  upstairs. 

CRILLY 

Was  he  not  out  this  morning? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

He's  not  dressed  yet. 

CRILLY 

He  was  more  particular  when  he  was  in  the  workhouse. 

ANNA 

I  know  who  those  two  children  are  now.  They  are 
the  new  gas-manager's  children. 

CRILLY 

He's  a  Scotchman. 

ANNA 

And  married  for  the  second  time.  Mother,  Mrs. 
Dunne  is  going  to  the  races.    Such  a  sketch  of  a  hat. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

It  would  be  better  for  her  if  she  stayed  at  home  and 
looked  after  her  business. 

ANNA 

She  won't  have  much  business  to  look  after  soon. 
That's  the  third  time  her  husband  has  come  out  of 
Farrell's  public-house. 

CRILLY 

He's  drinking  with  the  Dispensary  Doctor.  Com- 
panions! They're  the  curse  of  this  town,  Marianne. 
{He  sits  down) 

ANNA 

She's  walked  into  a  blind  man,  hat  and  all.  He's 
from  the  Workhouse. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  177 

BILLY 

lie's  the  blind  piper  out  of  tin*  workhouse,  Myles 
Gorman. 

IBS.    CHILLY 

There's  no  one  within.  You  should  go  into  the  shop, 
Anna. 

W  V 

Yes,  mother.  (She  crosses)  James  Scollard  is  coming 
in,  mother. 

[lis.   CHILLY 

Very  well,  Anna.    Stay  in  the  shop  until  Mary  comes. 
[Anna  goes  into  the  .shop.     Crilly  mores  about. 
CBS.    <  RILLS 

You're  very  uneasy. 

BILLY 

Yrs,  1  am  uneasy,  Marianne.    There's  some  present- 
ment on  me.     Fifty  pounds  a  year  i>  a  good  pension 
for  the  old  man.     Be's  a  month  out  now.     He  ought 
t<>  be  gel  ting  an  instalment. 
[Anna  route*  in  from  shop. 
w  \ 
Mother,  the  doctor's  daughter  is  in  the  shop. 

I'.-.    '  BILLY 

What  does  -he  want? 
w  \    imitating  an  accent) 

Send  up  a  pound  of  butter,  two  pounds  of  sugar,  and 

a  pound  of  tea. 

[RS.    <   KII.I.Y 

These  people  are  paying  nobody.  But  we  can't 
refuse  her.  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  .send  them  up. 
He  very  distanl  with  her,  Anna. 

I've  kept  her  waiting.     Here's  a  letter,  mother. 


178  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MRS.  crilly  (taking  letter) 
When  did  it  come,  Anna? 

ANNA 

It's  just  handed  in. 

\_Anna  goes  out.    Mrs.  Crilly  opens  letter. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

It's  from  the  bank.     They  want  me  to  call.     What 
does  the  bank  manager  want  with  me,  I  wonder? 

CRILLY 

I   have   something   to   tell   you,    Marianne.      I'll   tell 
you  in  a  while.     (He  takes  a  turn  up  and  down) 

MRS.    CRILLY 

What  do  you  want  to  tell  me? 

CRILLY 

Prepare  your  mind,  Marianne. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

What  is  it? 

CRILLY 

I  owe  you  money,  Marianne. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Money!    How  do  you  owe  me  money? 
crilly  ' 

That  cute  boy,  James  Covey,  who  took  in  all  the 

town  — 
mrs.  crilly  (rising) 

Covey!    My  God!    You  backed  a  bill  for  him? 

CRILLY 

I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.     I  did. 
mrs.  crilly  (with  fear  in  her  eyes) 

How  much  is  it? 
crilly  (walking  away  to  window) 

I'll  come  to  that,  Marianne. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  L7fl 

mis.  <  kii.i.y 

Did  any  our  hack  the  l»ill  with  you? 
:  kii.i.y 
I  obliged  the  follow.    No  one  backed  the  bill  with  me. 

UBS.    <   KII.I.Y 

Does  any  one  know  of  it? 

'KII.I.Y 

No.  Marianne. 

IBS.    <KII.I.Y 

The  bank.  .  .  .  Tell  me  what  happened. 

.HILLY 

The  bank  manager  sent  for  me  when  he  came  to  the 

town  after  Covey  cleared. 

IBS.    < 'HILLY 

We  had  four  hundred  pounds  in  the  bank. 

'HILLY 

We  had.  Marianne. 
IBS.    <  I'll. I. Y 

Tell  me  how  much  was  the  bill. 

SILLY 

There's  no  use  in  beating  about  the  bush.  The  bill 
was  for  three  hundred  pounds. 

IBS.    (KII.I.Y 

And  what  has  the  bank  done? 

'HILLY 

I " iii   Mirry  to  say,   Marianne,  the  bank  has  taken  the 
money  over  from  our  account. 
IBS.    '  RILL1 
You've  ruined  us  at   last,  CroftOD  Crilly. 

HILLY 

You  should  never  forgive  me,  Marianne.  I'll  go  t<> 
America  and  begin  life  again.  {He  turns  to  (jo  out 
by  .shop) 


180  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MRS.    CRILLY 

We  have  no  money  left. 

CRILLY 

A  hundred  pounds,  Marianne. 

MRS.  CRILLY 

That's  Anna's  money. 

CRILLY 

Scollard  should  be  satisfied. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Anna  insists  on  getting  her  money. 

CRILLY 

Very  well,  Marianne.     I'll  leave  it  all  to  yourself. 
[James  Scollard  comes  in.    Anna  is  behind  him.    Scol- 
lard has  an  account  book  in  his  hand. 

SCOLLARD 

Good    morning,    Mrs.    Crilly.      Good    morning,    Mr. 
Crilly. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Good  morning,  Mr.  Scollard. 
\_Crofton  Crilly  turns  to  go. 

ANNA 

Don't  go,  father. 

SCOLLARD 

Don't  go,  Mr.  Crilly.    I  have  something  particular  to 
say  to  yourself  and  Mrs.  Crilly. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Sit  down,  Mr.  Scollard. 

[Anna   brings  chair,   and  Scollard  sits  center.     Anna 

stands  behind  him.    Mrs.  Crilly  sits  left  of  him. 

SCOLLARD 

I  am  here  to  propose  for  the  hand  of  your  daughter, 
Miss  Anna  Crilly. 


TIIOM  VS   Ml  SKERRY  181 

MRS.    <  EtILLI 

We  have  nothing  l«»  say  againsl  your  proposal,  Mr. 
Scollard. 

CHILLI 

Won't  you  take  something,  James? 

S«  I  M.LAKI) 

No,  thank-,  Mr.  Crilly.     I  never  touch  intoxicants. 
[Crqfton  (rillij  goes  into  shop. 

UBS.    <  LILLY 

We  couldn't  \\i-h  for  a  better  match  for  Anna.  But 
I  feel  bound  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Scollard,  that  we  have 
had  a  very  severe  Loss  in  our  business. 

A  \  N  A 

What  is  it,  mother? 
MBS.  i  killy 

I  don't  mind  telling  you.  Mr.  Crilly  has  made  him- 
seU  responsible  for  a  bill  on  the  bank. 

■>■  OLLABD 

In  whose  interest,  Mrs.  Crilly? 

MBS.    «   LILLY 

lie  backed  a  bill  for  James  Covey.  A  bill  for  three 
hundred  pounds. 

\\\  \ 
( )h,  mother! 

MBS.    <  LILLY 

It's  a  dead  sure  loss.     I  don't  know  what  wc  arc  to 

do,  Anna. 

-<  OLLA]     I 

Tin-  i-  very  bad.  Mr-.  Crilly. 

[Crofton  Crilly  cornea  back  from  shop.    He  brings  in  a 

yla.su  of  whisky.     Ih   puts  whisky  on  dummy-pit 


182  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


MRS.    CRILLY 

The  bank  has  taken  over  three  hundred  pounds  from 
our  account. 

CRILLY 

Perhaps  Scollard  — 

SCOLLARD 

What  were  you  saying,  Mr.  Crilly? 

CRILLY 

Oh,  I  was  just  thinking  —  about  a  bill  you  know  — 
If  some  one  would  go  security  for  us  at  the  bank  — 

ANNA 

Father,  what  are  you  saying? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

It's  unnecessary  to  talk  like  that.  In  spite  of  your 
foolishness,  we  still  have  a  balance  at  the  bank. 

ANNA 

My  portion  comes  to  me  from  my  grandmother. 

SCOLLARD 

May  I  ask,  Mrs.  Crilly,  is  Miss  Crilly's  portion  safe? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

It  is  safe,  Mr.  Scollard. 

SCOLLARD 

I  have  been  definitely  appointed  Master  of  the  Union, 
and  I  may  say  that  Anna  and  myself  are  anxious  to 
marry. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

It  needn't  be  soon,  Mr.  Scollard. 

SCOLLARD 

After  Easter,  Mrs.  Crilly. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

But  that's  very  soon. 

SCOLLARD 

I  am  anxious  to  settle  down,  Mrs.  Crilly.    I'm  on  my 


THOMAS  NfUSKERRY  183 

way  to  a  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Guardians,  but 
before  I  go  I'd  like  t<>  have  some  more  information 

about  your  loss. 

MBS.    (HILLY 

Anna's  portion  is  not  touched,  but  wc  could  hardly 
afford  to  let  the  money  go  from  us  now. 

SO  >LL  \KI) 

I-  dial  90,  Mrs.  Crilly? 
MRS.    CRILLY 

Three  hundred  pounds  is  a  very  severe  loss. 

LAUD 

Very  severe,  indeed.  Still,  you  understand,  Mrs. 
Crilly.  the  difficulties  of  taking  such  a  step  as  marriage 
without  adequate  provision. 

DULLY 

Damn    it    all,    man,    Marianne    and    myself  married 

without  anything  at  all. 
mus.  crilly  {bitterly) 

Anna  won't  be  such  a  fool  as  her  mother. 

CRILLY 

Well,  Scollard  has  his  position,  and  we  helped  him  to 

it. 
EM  ■  ILLARD 

I  acknowledge  that. 

A  \  \  A 

Isn't  my  portion  eighty  pounds,  mother? 

MRS.    '  SILLY 

Yes,  Anna.  But  I'd  like  to  tell  Mr.  Scollard  that  it 
would  come  as  a  -train  on  u>  to  lei    the  money  go  at 

once. 

SCOLLARD 

1  daresay,  Mr-.  Crilly. 


184  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

ANNA 

But,  mother,  wouldn't  the  money  be  safer  with  us? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Well,  I  leave  the  whole  thing  in  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Scollard. 

SCOLLARD 

Anna  and  myself  have  been  talking  things  over,  Mrs. 
Crilly. 

ANNA 

And  we  don't  want  to  begin  life  in  a  poor  way. 

SCOLLARD 

We  see  the  advantage  of  being  always  solvent,  Mrs. 
Crilly. 

ANNA 

James  has  ambitions,  and  there's  no  reason  why  he 
shouldn't  venture  for  the  post  of  Secretary  of  the 
County  Council  when  old  Mr.  Dobbs  retires. 

SCOLLARD 

In  a  few  years,  Mrs.  Crilly,  when  I  had  more  official 
experience  and  some  reputation. 

ANNA 

Then  he  would  have  seven  or  eight  hundred  a  year. 

SCOLLARD 

As  I  said,  a  man  like  myself  would  want  to  be  in  a 
perfectly  solvent  position. 

ANNA 

Besides,  James  has  no  money  of  his  own. 

SCOLLARD 

I  never  had  the  chance  of  putting  money  by  —  Family 
calls,  Mrs.  Crilly. 

ANNA 

And  we  don't  want  to  begin  life  in  a  poor  way. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  1S.5 

MR8.    CRILLY 

Ymi  won't  wanl   the  whole  lit*  the  money.     I'll  give 

you  forty  pounds  now. 
CHILLI 
And  forty  when  the  first  child  is  born. 

A  \  \  A 

Oh,  father,  how  can  you  say  such  a  thing? 

LLARD 
I  need  only  say  this.  Anna  and  myself  were  talking 
over  affairs,  and  we  came  to  the  conclusion  it  would 
l>e  l>e-4  not  to  start  with  less  than  eighty  pounds, 
(//c  rises)  I  have  to  go  down  to  the  Board  Room 
now,  for  there  is  a  meeting  of  the  Guardians.  (He 
goes  towards  door) 
CHILLY 

Won't  you  take  a  glass? 

SCO LLARD 

No,    thanks,   Mr.   Crilly.     I   never  touch  stimulants. 

(iood  day  to  you  all. 

[//-•  goes  out.     Croft  on  Crilly  goes  after  him. 
UBS.    <  BELLY 

Anna,  you  won't  be  deprived  of  your  money. 
ANNA 

Then  what's  the  difficulty,   mother? 
MRS.    CRILLY 

Let  half  of  the  money  remain  with  us  for  a  while. 

A  \  \  A 

But,  mother,  if  1  don't  gel  all  my  money,  what  secu- 
rity have  I  that  what's  left  will  be  good  in  six  months 
or  a  year? 

MRS.    <  BILLY 

I'll  watch   th<-  money  for  yon,  Anna. 


186  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


ANNA 

It's  hard  to  keep  a  hold  on  money  in  a  town  where 
business  is  going  down. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Forty  pounds  will  be  given  to  you  and  forty  pounds 
will  be  kept  safe  for  you. 

ANNA 

Forty  pounds!  There's  not  a  small  farmer  comes  into 
the  shop  but  his  daughter  has  more  of  a  dowry  than 
forty  pounds. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Think  of  all  who  marry  without  a  dowry  at  all. 

ANNA 

You  wouldn't  have  me  go  to  James  Scollard  without  a 
dowry? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Well,  you  know  the  way  we're  situated.  If  you  insist 
on  getting  eighty  pounds  we'll  have  to  make  an  over- 
draft on  the  bank,  and,  in  the  way  business  is,  I 
don't  know  how  we'll  ever  recover  it. 

ANNA 

There  won't  be  much  left  out  of  eighty  pounds  when 
we  get  what  suits  us  in  furniture. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I  could  let  you  have  some  furniture. 

ANNA 

No,  mother.  We  want  to  start  in  a  way  that  is  dif- 
ferent from  this  house. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

You'll  want  all  the  money  together? 

ANNA 

All  of  it,  mother. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  is? 

BIBS.    CHILLY 

You'll  have  to  get  it  so.    Hut  you're  very  hard,  Anna. 

ANNA 

This  house  would  leach  any  one  to  look  to  themselves. 

MRS.    CHILLY 

(  ome    upstairs.      {Anna    goes,    left)     Throe    hundred 
pounds    of    a    loss.       Eighty    pounds    with    that.      I'm 
terrified  when  I  think.     {She  goes  after  Anna) 
[Crofton   ('rill;/  comes  in  from  shop.     He  /aires  (/lass  of 
whisky  from  fable,  and  sits  down  in  arm  chair. 

CHILLY 

1  don't  know  what  Marianne's  to  do  at  all.    She  has 
a    shocking  lot  to  contend   with.     Can  anything  be 
go1  from  the  old  man,  I  wonder? 
[Albert  Crillij  comes  in  by  door,  left. 

ALBERT 
Well,  pa. 

chilly 

Well,  Albert.    What's  the  news  in  the  town,  Albert? 

ALBERT 

Tiny  say  that  you've  backed  a  bill  for  Covey. 
CHILLY 

If  your  mother  hears  that  kind  of  talk  she'll  be  vexed, 
Albert 

ALBERT 

Hut  did  you  back  the  bill? 
CHILLY 

For   Heaven's    sake,    let    me   alone,   Albert.     Yes,   I 
backed  the  bill. 

ALBERT 

How  much? 

CHILLY 

You'll  hear  all  about  it  from  your  mother. 


188  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

ALBERT 

They  say  the  bill  was  for  three  hundred. 

CRILLY 

It  was  three  or  thereabouts. 

ALBERT 

Ton  my  word,  father,  the  mother  will  have  to  take 
out  a  mandamus  against  you. 
crilly  (with  parental  dignity) 

Don't  talk  to  me  in  that  way,  Sir. 

ALBERT 

It's  scandalous,  really.  I  expect  you've  ruined  the 
business. 

CRILLY 

I  hate  the  world  and  all  its  works  and  pomps. 

ALBERT 

I  believe  you've  done  for  the  business.  I'm  going 
away. 

CRILLY 

Then  you've  got  the  other  appointment? 

ALBERT 

Temporary    clerkship    in   the    Land   Department.      I 
wonder  would  the  mother  let  me  have  the  money  for 
clothes? 
crilly  (desperately) 

Don't  mention  it  at  all  to  her. 

ALBERT 

I  have  a  card  from  a  Dublin  tailor  in  my  pocket.  If 
I  could  pay  him  for  one  suit,  I  could  get  another  on 
tick. 

CRILLY 

I  tell  you  not  to  talk  to  your  mother  about  money. 
That  fellow,  Scollard,  has  put  her  out. 


THOMAS   MTJSKERRY  189 

kLBEBT 

How's  that? 

CBILL1  ' 

Money  again.  Wauls  the  whole  of  Anna's  portion 
(1  >wn.  And  Anna's  backing  him  up,  too.  I  don't 
know  how  your  mother  can  stand  it.  I  don't  like 
Scollard.  Then  yon  won't  be  staying  on,  Albert,  to 
do  the  stocktaking  in  the  Workhouse? 

RT 

No;    they'll  have  to  gel  some  one  else.     I'm  glad  to 
be  out  of  that  job. 
:iully 
I'm  not  sorry,  Albert. 

ILBERT 

The  mother  would  expeet  me  to  do  something  queer 
in   my  report. 

BILLY 
Between  you  and  me,  Albert,  women  aren't  acquainted 
with  the  working  <>t  affairs,  and  they  expert  unusual 
thin--    to  happen.      Who  will  they   make   stoeklaker, 
now? 

LLBERT 

Young  Dobbs,  likely.     I  suppose  the  whole  busin 

about    the  coal   will  come  out    then? 
HILLY 

I  suppose  il  will;  but  say  nothing  about  it  now,  Albert. 
Let  the  hare  -it . 

ALBERT 

What  does  the  old  man  think  about   it   now? 

SKILLY 

He's  very  close  to  himself.     I  think  Ik-  has  forgotten 

all  about  it. 


190  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


ALBERT 

I  wouldn't  say  so. 

CRILLY 

Who's  that  in  the  shop,  Albert? 

ALBERT 

Felix  Tournour. 
crilly  {rising) 

I  wonder  what  they  think  about  Scollard  in  the  Poor- 
house.  {He  and  Albert  go  into  the  shop  as  Muskerry 
enters  from  left) 

[Mnskerry  is  untidily  dressed.  His  boots  are  unlaced. 
He  walks  across  the  room  and  speaks  pettishly. 

MUSKERRY 

They  haven't  brought  my  soup  yet.  They  won't 
give  much  of  their  time  to  me.  I'm  disappointed  in 
Anna  Crilly.  Well,  a  certain  share  in  this  shop  was 
to  have  gone  to  Anna  Crilly.  I'll  get  that  share,  and 
I'll  hoard  it  up  myself.  I'll  hoard  it  up.  And  the 
fifty  pounds  of  my  pension,  I'll  hoard  that  up,  too. 
[Albert  comes  in  from  shop. 

MUSKERRY 

That's  a  black  fire  that's  in  the  grate.  I  don't  like 
the  coal  that  comes  into  this  place. 

ALBERT 

Coal,  eh,  grandpapa. 

MUSKERRY 

I  said  coal. 

ALBERT 

We  haven't  good  stores  here. 

MUSKERRY 

Confound  you  for  your  insolence. 

ALBERT 

Somebody  you  know  is  in  the  shop  —  Felix  Tournour. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  1!)l 


Ml  SKERRY 

Bid  Tournour  come  in  to  me. 
albert  (talking  into  the  shop) 

You're  wanted  here,  Tournour.  Come  in  now  or  I'll 
entertain  the  boss  with  "The  Devil's  Rambles." 
(//<•  turns  to  Musketry)  I  was  given  the  job  of  stock- 
taking. 

IfUSKERRY 

That's  a  matter  for  yourself. 

ALBERT 

I  don't  think  I'll  take  the  job  now. 
IfUSKERRY 

Why  won't  you  take  it? 

ALBERT 

I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  the  fifty  tons  of  coal. 

Ml  SKERR1 

I  was  too  precipitate  about  the  coal.  Hut  don't  have 
me  at   the  loss  of  fifty  pounds  through  any  of  your 

smartness. 

ALBEKT 

All  right,  grandfather;    I'll  see  you  through. 

Ml  SKERRY 

Confound  you  for  a  puppy. 

[Felix  Tournour  enters.    II>  looks  prosperous.    Ee  has 

on  a  loud  check  sail.    lie  wears  a  red  tie  and  a  peaked 

cup. 

ALBERT 

The  Master  wants  to  speak  to  you,  Tournour. 

TOURNOUR 

What  Master. 

ALB! 

The  boss,  Tournour.  the  boss. 


192  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

I  want  you,  and  that's  enough  for  you,  Tournour. 

ALBERT 

I  suppose  you  don't  know,  grandpapa,  that  Tournour 
has  a  middling  high  position  in  the  Poorhouse  now. 

MUSKERRY 

What  are  you  saying? 

ALBERT 

Tournour  is  Ward-master  now. 

MUSKERRY 

I  wasn't  given  any  notice  of  that. 

ALBERT 

Eh,  Tournour  — 

"The  Devil  went  out  for  a  ramble  at  night, 

Through  Garrisowen  Union  to  see  every  sight. 

He  saw  Felix  Tournour  — 

TOURNOUR 

"He  saw  one  in  comfort,  of  that  you'll  be  sure. 

With  his  back  to  the  fire  stands  Felix  Tournour." 
\_He  puts  his  back  to  fire. 

ALBERT 

Well,  so-long,  gents.     (He  goes  out  by  shop  door) 

MUSKERRY 

Let  me  see  you,  Tournour. 

TOURNOUR 

I'm  plain  to  be  seen. 

MUSKERRY 

Who  recommended  you  for  Ward-master? 

TOURNOUR 

Them  that  had  the  power. 

MUSKERRY 

I  would  not  have  done  it,  Tournour. 


THOMAS    MUSKERRY 


T()l  RNOUK 

No.     Ami  still,  d'\  I'm  up  ami  Dot  down.     Well, 

I'll  be 

Ml 3KERRY 

Come  back  here,  Tournour.    I  made  il  a  rule  that  no 
Ward-master  should  let  drink  be  brought  in   to  the 
i]  ers. 

Anil! 

It's  a  pity  you're  not  Master  still! 

Mi  SKI  RRT 

What  arc  yon  saying? 

TOURNOUB 

It's  a  pity  that  you're  not  still  the  Master  over  us. 
Mis; 

lrnour,  you're  forgetting  yourself. 
rOURNOUB 

Well,  maybe  you  an-  still  the  Master. 

KERRY 
How  dare  you  speak  to  me  with  such  efFrontcry?  How 
dare  you? 

mi  ii'.i  nu 

I    dunno.      I'm    going    away    now,    if     your    honour 
has  nothing  more  to  say  to  me.     {He  turns  to  go) 

I4UBKERRY 

You   shall  not.       You  shall  not,  I  say. 
ruri.v  ii'u 

What? 
i;v 

You  -hall  not   go  away  until  you've  apologised  to  me. 
roi  ic\<»ru 

DonM    be    talking,   Thomas   Muskeny.      You're   not 

Master  over  me. 


194  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

Not  the  Master  over  you? 

TOURNOUR 

No.    There's  an  end  to  your  sway,  Mr.  Muskerry. 

MUSKERRY 

Go  out  of  the  house.  No,  stay  here.  You  think  I'm 
out  of  the  Workhouse.  No.  That's  not  so.  I've 
claims,  great  claims,  on  it  still.  Not  for  nothing  was 
I  there  for  thirty  years,  the  pattern  for  the  officials  of 
Ireland. 

TOURNOUR 

Twenty-nine  years,  I'm  telling  you. 

MUSKERRY 

The  Guardians  will  take  account  of  me. 

TOURNOUR 

And  maybe  they  would,  too. 

MUSKERRY 

What's  that  you're  saying? 

TOURNOUR 

The  Guardians  might  take  an  account  of  Thomas 
Muskerry  in  a  way  he  mightn't  like.    {He  goes  to  door) 

MUSKERRY 

Come  back  here,  Felix  Tournour. 

TOURNOUR 

I'm  not  your  sub-servant. 

MUSKERRY 

Stand  here  before  me. 

TOURNOUR 

You  and  your  before  me!  Your  back  to  heaven  and 
your  belly  to  hell. 

MUSKERRY 

Go  away.    Go  away  out  of  this. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  195 


DUBNOl  1; 

Don't  try  to  down-face  me.    I  know  something  ahout 
yon. 
QBKEBBY 

Ah. ml  me! 

DUBNOUB 

Aye.  you  and  your  fifty  tons  of  coal.  (Muskerry  goes 
bach  from  him)  Great  claims  on  the  Workhouse  have 
you.  The  Guardians  will  take  account  of  you.  Will 
they?  Talk  to  them  about  the  fifty  tons  of  coal.  Go 
and  do  that,  my  pattern  of  the  officials  of  Ireland! 
[Tournour  goes  out  by  shop.  Muskcrry  stands  with 
his  hands  on  the  arm  chair. 

ERRY 

This  minute  Til  go  down  to  the  Guardians  and  make 
my  complaint.  *//<'  notices  his  appearand)  I'm 
going  about  all  day  with  my  boots  unlaced.  I'm 
falling  into  bad  way-,  had,  slovenly  ways.  And  my 
coat  needs  brushing,  too.  (He  takes  off  his  coat  ami 
goes  to  window  and  brushes  it)  That's  Myles  Gorman 
going  hack  to  the  Workhouse.  I  couldn't  walk  with 
my  head  held  as  high  as  that.  In  this  house  I  am 
losing  niy  uprightness.  I'll  do  more  than  hue  my 
boots  and  brush  my  coat.  I'll  go  down  to  the  Guard- 
ian^ and  I'll  pay  them  hack  their  fifty  pounds. 
[Anna  Crilly  <->>mcs  in  from  lift  with  a  bowl  of  soup. 

Here's  your  >oup,  grandpapa. 

r>KERRY 

I  can't  take  it  now,  Anna.     [He  puts  on  his  coat) 
Are  you  going  out,  grandpapa? 


>. 


196  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

I'm  going  before  the  meeting  of  the  Board  of  Guardians. 

ANNA 

Are  you,  grandpapa? 

MUSKERRY 

Yes,  Anna,  I  am.  I'm  going  to  pay  them  back  their 
fifty  pounds. 

ANNA 

And  have  you  the  fifty  pounds? 

MUSKERRY 

Your  mother  has  it  for  me. 

ANNA 

Sit  down,  grandpapa,  and  take  your  soup. 

MUSKERRY 

No,  Anna,  I  won't  take  anything  until  my  mind  is  at 
rest  about  the  coal.     A  certain  person  has  spoken  to 
me  in  a  way  I'll  never  submit  to  be  spoken  to  again. 
[Mrs.  Crilly  conies  in. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

What  has  happened  to  you? 

MUSKERRY 

Felix  Tournour  knows  about  the  coal,  Marianne.  He 
can  disgrace  me  before  the  world. 

ANNA 

And  grandpapa  wants  to  go  before  the  Guardians 
and  pay  them  back  the  fifty  pounds. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Wait  until  we  consult  Mr.  Scollard. 
[Anna  goes  out. 

MUSKERRY 

No,  Marianne.  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  party  to  this 
any  longer.  I'm  going  before  the  Guardians,  and  I'll 
pay  them  back  their  fifty  pounds. 


THOMAS    MlSKKItltY  107 


ftfRS.    CRILLI 

Fifty  pounds.     From  what   place  is  fifty  pounds  to 

come  so  easily? 

Mi  SKERRY 

1*11  a  k  you  to  give  me  the  fifty  pounds,  Marianne. 
MRS.    CRILLY 

I'll  do  no  such  thing.     Anna  is  getting  married,  and 

she  claims  her  fortune. 

Ml'SKKKKY 

Anna  getting  married.  This  was  kept  from  me.  And 
who  is  Anna  getting  married  to? 

MRS.    <  WILLY 

To  James  Scollard. 

Ml  StKERRY 

To  James  Scollard.  And  so  Anna  is  getting  married 
to  my  successor,  .lames  Scollard.  My  successor. 
How  well  I  knew  there  was  sonic  such  scheme  behind 
shifting  me  out  of  the  Workhouse.  And  Anna  Crilly 
was  against  me  all  the  time.  Well,  well,  well.  I'll 
remember  this. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I'm  at  great  losses  since  you  came  here. 

.i.KKV 

I'm  at  greater  losses,  Marianne. 

UBS.    (  EULLJ 

What   l(  -  ies  are  you  at? 
Mi  E KERRY 

The  loss  of  my  trust,  the  loss  of  my  dignity,  my  self- 
respect,  and  — 

■        3,     ,    | ;  l  r  LI 

I  think  we  did  all  we  could  for  you. 
Mi  SKERRY 

I'm  going  out  now  to  pay  back  the  Guardians  the  sum 


198  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

due  to  them  from  me.  I  want  fifty  pounds  from  you. 
I  claim  it,  and  I  have  a  right  to  claim  it. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

We  have  no  money  at  all.  Listen.  Crofton  Crilly 
backed  a  bill  for  James  Covey,  and  three  hundred 
pounds  has  been  taken  from  our  account. 

MUSKERRY 

Three  hundred  pounds! 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Yes.    Three  hundred  pounds. 

MUSKERRY 

He  backed  a  bill  for  three  hundred  pounds.  And  do 
you  think,  Marianne  Crilly,  there  can  be  any  luck, 
in  a  house  where  such  a  thing  could  happen?  I  tell 
you  there  is  no  luck  nor  grace  in  your  house.  {He  puts 
on  his  hat  and  goes  to  cupboard  to  get  his  stick.  He 
opens  the  cupboard.  He  turns  round) 
muskerry  {greatly  moved) 

My  God,  my  God.  I'm  made  cry  at  the  things  that 
happen  in  this  house. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

What  is  it? 

MUSKERRY 

The  good  meat  I  brought  in.  There  it  is  on  the  floor 
and  the  cat  mangling  it.  I'll  go  out  of  this  house, 
and  I'll  never  put  foot  into  it  again. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

And  where  will  you  go? 

MUSKERRY 

I'll  go  before  the  Board  of  Guardians  and  I'll  ask 
them  to  provide  for  me. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

What  do  you  want  me  to  do  for  you? 


THOMAS   MTJSKE1  199 


muskebby 

Give  in--  fifty  pounds,  so  that  I  can  pay  them  <>ir  now. 

MRS.    CBILLY 

Haven't  I  told  you  the  way  I'm  straitened  for  money? 

■ : ;  v 
You  have  still  iu  the  bank  what  would  save  my  oame. 

-.    i  BILLY 

!  >.  n't   be  unreasonable.     I   have  to  provide  for  my 
children. 

MUSKERB1 

Your  children.     Yes,  you  have  to  provide  for  your 
children.     I   provided  for  them   long  enough.     And 

now  you  would  take  my  place,   my  honour,  and  my 
self-respect,   and  provide  for  them  over  again.      (He 
ul ) 
UBS.    CBILLY 

I'll  have  to  put  up  with  this,  too. 
[Anna  re-enters. 

\ 
Where  has  he  gone,  mother? 
MBS.    I  I  :  .l-Y 

He  has  down  to  the  Workhouse. 

What  is  he  going  to  do,  mother? 

<  BILLY 

He  says  he  will  ask  the  Guardians  to  provide  for  him. 

ANNA 

It's  not  likely  they'll  do  that  for  a  man  with  a  pension 
fifty  pounds  a  year. 

-     I  BILLY 
1  don't  know  what  will  happen  to  i. 

ANN  \ 

He'll  come  back,  mother. 


200  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MRS.    CRILLY 

He  will.    But  everything  will  have  been  made  public, 
and  the  money  will  have  to  be  paid. 
anna  (at  the  window) 

There  he  is  going  down  the  street,  mother. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Which  way? 

ANNA 

Towards  the  Workhouse.  And  here's  the  doctor's 
daughter  coming  into  the  shop  again,  mother. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I'll  go  out  and  see  her  myself.  (As  she  goes  out  she 
hands  Anna  a  cheque)  That's  the  last  cheque  I'll  be 
able  to  make  out.  There's  your  eighty  pounds, 
Anna.     (She  goes  into  the  shop) 

ANNA 

We  can  begin  to  get  the  furniture  now. 

[She  sits  down  at  the  table  and  makes  some  calcxdation 

with  a  'pencil. 

CURTAIN 


ACT    THIRD 

The  infirm  ward  in  the  Workhouse.  Entrance  from 
corridor,  right.  Forward,  lift,  ore  three  beds  with  bedding 
folded  upon  them.  Back,  left,  is  a  door  leading  into  S 
Ward.  This  door  is  dosed,  and  a  large  key  is  in  lock. 
Fireplace  with  a  grating  around  it,  left.  Unci;,  right,  is  a 
window  with  little  leaded  j>aues. 

It  is  noon  on  a  May  day,  but  the  light  inside  the  ward  is 
hie. 

Tiro  paupers  are  seated  at  fire.  One  of  tliem,  Mielcie 
Cripes,  is  a  man  of  fifty,  stooped  and  hoUow-chested,  but 
with  quick  blue  eyes.  The  other  man.  Tom  Shanley,  is 
not  old,  but  he  looks  broken  and  listless.  Myles  Gorman, 
still  in  pauper  dress,  is  standing  Injure  window,  an  ex- 
tant look  on  his  fa*   . 

Thomas  Musketry  enters  from  corridor,  lie  wears  his 
own  clothes,  but  he  has  let  them  get  into  disorder.  His 
hair   and    heard   are    disordered,    and  he  seems   very   much 

broken    down.     Nevertheless,    he    looks    as    if   his   mind 
were  composed. 

Ml  SKERRY 

Et'a  dark  in  here,  Michael. 

CRD 

It  is,  sir. 

KUBKERRY 

I  find  it  very  spiritless  after  coming  u])  from  the 
chapel.  Don't  pass  your  whole  day  here.  Go  down 
into  tin-  yard.  '  //'  stands  !>■  fur,-  the  window)  Tin-; 
is  tin-  first  fine  day,  and  you  oughi   to  go  out  along 


202  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

the  country  road.  Ask  the  Master  for  leave.  It's 
the  month  of  May,  and  you'll  be  glad  of  the  sight  of 
the  grass  and  the  smell  of  the  bushes.  Now  here's  a 
remarkable  thing.  I  venture  to  think  that  the  like 
of  this  has  never  happened  before.  Here  are  the 
bees  swarming  at  the  window  pane. 

GORMAN 

You'll  hear  my  pipes  on  the  road  to-day.  That's  as 
sure  as  the  right  hand  is  on  my  body.  (He  goes  out 
by  corridor  door) 

CRIPES 

Myles  Gorman  must  have  been  glad  to  hear  that 
buzzing. 

MUSKERRY 

Why  was  Myles  glad  to  hear  it? 

SHANLEY 

He  was  leaving  on  the  first  fine  day. 

CRIPES 

The  buzzing  at  the  pane  would  let  any  one  know 
that  the  air  is  nice  for  a  journey. 

MUSKERRY 

I  am  leaving  to-day,  myself. 

CRIPES 

And  where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Muskerry? 

MUSKERRY 

I'm  going  to  a  place  of  my  own. 
\_Muskerry  goes  into  the  Select  Ward. 

CRIPES 

I'll  tell  you  what  brought  Thomas  Muskerry  back 
to  the  workhouse  to  be  an  inmate  in  it.  Living  in  a 
bad  house.  Living  with  his  own.  That's  what 
brought  him  back.  And  that's  what  left  me  here, 
too. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  203 

BHANLBl    [list !<:<*!>/) 

The  others  have  the  flour,  and  we  may  hawk  the  bran. 
[.1/j  old  pauper  comes  into  the  ward.  His  face  looks 
bleached.  He  has  the  handle  <>f  a  sweeping-brush  for  a 
staff.  lie  moves  about  the  iron!,  muttering  to  himself. 
lie  seals  himself  on  chair,  right. 
THE  »»!.[)  u  tpeaking  as  if  thinking  aloud) 

I  was  at  twelve  o'clock  Mass.  Now  one  o'clock 
would  be  a  late  Mass.  I  was  at  Mass  at  one  o'clock. 
Wouldn't  that  In-  a  long  time  to  keep  a  priest,  and 
In-  fasting  the  whole  tin 

CRE 

I'll  tell  you  what  Thomas  Musketry  did  when  he  left 
the  bad  house  he  was  in.     (He  puts  coal  on  the  fire) 

THE  old  max 

I  was  ;it  one  o'clock  Mass  in  Skibbereen.  I  know 
where  Skibbereen  is  well.  In  the  County  Cork.  Cork 
i-   ,i    big   county.     As  big  a-   Dublin   and   Wicklow. 

That's  where  the  people  died  when  there  was  the 
hunger. 

(  EUPES 

He  came  l>efore  the  meeting  of  the  Guardians,  and 
he  told  them  he  owed  them  the  whole  of  his  year's 
peiisiou.  Then  he  got  some  sort  of  a  stroke,  and  Ik* 
broke  down.  Ami  the  Guardians  gave  him  the  S<  '  ct 
Ward  there  for  himself. 
sn  wi.r.v 

They  did  well  for  him. 

CHI 

Why  wouldn't  they  give  him  the  Select  Ward?     [t's 

lit    that    he'd    get    the  little   room,   and   not    have  to 
make  down  the  pauper's  bed  with  the  rest  oi  us. 


204  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

SHANLEY 

He  was  at  the  altar  to-day,  and  he  stayed  in  the  chapel 
after  Mass. 

CRIPES 

He'll  be  here  shortly. 

THE    OLD   MAN 

Skibbereen!  That's  where  the  people  died  when  there 
was  the  hunger.  Men  and  women  without  coffins, 
or  even  their  clothes  off.  Just  buried.  Skibbereen  I 
remember  well,  for  I  was  a  whole  man  then.  And 
the  village.  For  there  are  people  living  in  it  yet. 
They  didn't  all  die. 

SHANLEY 

We'll  have  somebody  else  in  the  Select  Ward  this 
evening. 

CRIPES 

That's  what  they  were  talking  about.  The  nuns  are 
sending  a  patient  up  here. 

SHANLEY 

I  suppose  the  Ward-master  will  be  in  here  to  regulate 
the  room.     (He  rises) 

CRIPES 

Aye,  the  Ward-master.  Felix  Tournour,  the  Ward- 
master.  You've  come  to  your  own  place  at  last,  Felix 
Tournour. 

SHANLEY 

Felix  Tournour  will  be  coming  the  master  over  me  if 
he  finds  me  here.     (Shanley  goes  out) 

CRIPES 

Felix  Tournour!    That's  the  lad  that  will  be  coming  in 
with  his  head  up  like  the  gander  that's  after  beating 
down  a  child. 
[Christy  Clarke  enters.    He  carries  a  little  portmanteau. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  205 


BHRISTY 

Is  Mr.  Muskerry  here? 

GRIPES 

He's  in  the  room,  i.l  sound  of  water  splashing  and  the 
movements  of  a  heavy  person  arc  heard)  Will  you  be 
speaking  with  him,  young  fellow? 

CHRISTY 

I  will. 

CKI1T.S 

Tell  him,  like  a  good  little  boy,  that  the  oul'  men 

would  be  under  a  favour  t<>  him  if  he  left  a  bit  of 

tobacco.    You  won't  forget  that? 
CHRISTY 

I  won't  forget  it. 
GRIPES 

I   don't  want  to  be  in  tlte   way   of   Felix   Tournour. 

We're  going  down   to    the   yard,    but  we'll   see  Mr. 

Muskerry  when  he's  going  away. 

\jCripes  goes  out. 

M(  SKERRY  (within  ) 

1>  that  you,  Christy  Clarke? 
CHRISTY 

It  is,  Mr.  Muskerry. 
Ml  SKERRY 

Have  you  any  news,  Christy? 
CHRIST! 

No  news,  except  that  my  mother  is  in  the  cottage,  and 

is  expecting  you  to-day. 

Ml  SKERRY 

I'll  he  in  the  cottage  to-day,  Christy.  I'm  cleaning 
myself.    1 .1  sound  of  splashing  and  moving  about)      1  he 

Guardians   were  good   to   get    the   little   house  for   me. 

I'd  a>  lieve  be  there  as  in  a  mansion.    There's  about 


206  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

half  an  acre  of  land  to  the  place,  and  I'll  do  work  on 
the  ground  from  time  to  time,  for  it's  a  good  thing 
for  a  man  to  get  the  smell  of  the  clay. 

CHRISTY 

And  how  are  you  in  health,  Mr.  Muskerry? 

MUSKERRY 

I'm  very  well  in  health.  I  was  anointed,  you  know, 
and  after  that  I  mended  miraculously. 

CHRISTY 

And  what  about  the  pension? 

MUSKERRY 

I'm  getting  three  hundred  pounds.  They  asked  me 
to  realize  the  pension.  I  hope  I  have  life  enough 
before  me.  (He  comes  out.  He  has  on  trousers,  coat, 
and  starched  shirt.     The  shirt  is  soiled  and  crushed) 

MUSKERRY 

On  Saturdays  I'll  do  my  marketing.  I'll  come  into 
the  town,  and  I'll  buy  the  bit  of  meat  for  my  dinner 
on  Sunday.  But  what  are  you  doing  with  this  port- 
manteau, Christy? 

CHRISTY 

I'm  going  away  myself. 

MUSKERRY 

To  a  situation,  is  it? 

CHRISTY 

To  a  situation  in  Dublin. 

MUSKERRY 

I  wish  you  luck,  Christy.  (He  shakes  hands  with  the 
boy,  and  sits  down  on  a  chair)  I  was  dreaming  on  new 
things  all  last  night.  New  shirts,  new  sheets,  every- 
thing new. 

CHRISTY 

I  want  to  be  something. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  207 

IfTJSKERRI 

What  do  you  want  to  be? 
Christy 

A  u  riter. 
Ill  SKERRY 

A  writer  «»t'  hooks,  is  it? 

IHRIBTY 

Yes,  a  w  riter  of  hooks. 

ill  SKERRY 

Listen,  now,  and  tell  mc  do  you  hear  anything.  That's 
the  sound  of  bees  swarming  at  the  window.  That's  a 
good  augury  for  you,  Christy. 

IIK1STV 

All  life's  hefore  me. 
,!i  SKERRY 

Will  you  give  heed  to  what  I  tell  you? 
IHRISTY 

I'll  give  heed  to  it,  Mr.  Muskcrry. 
tUSKERRY 

hive  a  good  life. 
IHRISTY 

I  give  heed   to  you. 
CUSKERRY 

Your  mother  had  great  hardship  in  rearing  you. 
IHRISTY 

I  know  that.  Mr.  Muskerry,  hut  now  I'm  ahlc  for  tin- 
world. 

[U8KERHY 

I  wish  success  to  ;ill  your  efforts.  Be  very  careful  of 
your  personal  appearance. 

IIKISTV 

I  will,  Mr.  IVfuskerry. 


208  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

Get  yourself  a  new  cravat  before  you  leave  the  town. 

CHRISTY 

I'll  get  it. 

MUSKERRY 

I  think  I'd  look  better  myself  if  I  had  a  fresher  shirt. 

CHRISTY 

I  saw  clean  shirts  of  yours  before  the  fire  last  night 
in  my  mother's  house. 

MUSKERRY 

I  wish  I  could  get  one  before  I  leave  this  place. 

CHRISTY 

Will  I  run  off  and  get  one  for  you? 

MUSKERRY 

Would  you,  Christy?    Would  it  be  too  much  trouble? 
\_Muskerry  rises. 

CHRISTY 

I'll  go  now. 

MUSKERRY 

You're  a  very  willing  boy,  Christy,  and  you're  sure 
to  get  on.  {He  goes  to  a  little  broken  mirror  on  the  wall) 
I  am  white  and  loose  of  flesh,  and  that's  not  a  good 
sign  with  me,  Christy.  I'll  tell  you  something.  If 
I  were  staying  here  to-night,  it's  the  pauper's  bed  I'd 
have  to  sleep  on. 
\_Mrs.  Crilly  comes  to  the  door. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Well,  I  see  you're  making  ready  for  your  departure. 
muskerry  {who  has  become  uneasy) 
I  am  ready  for  my  departure. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

And  this  young  man  has  come  for  you,  I  suppose? 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  509 

ll  -Lilly 

This  young  man  is  minding  his  own  busines 
•HRisrx 
I'm  going  out  now  to  get  a  shirt  for  the  Master. 

'LILLY 

A  starched  shirt,  I  suppose,  Christy.  Go  down  to 
our  house,  and  tell  .Mary  to  give  you  one  of  the  shirts 
that  arc  folded  up. 

ILSKLLLY 

The  boy  will  go  where  he  was  hid  go. 

IHS.    (HILLY 

Oh,  very  well.  Run,  Christy,  and  do  the  message  for 
the  Master. 

\_(  h.riMij  Clarke  goes  out. 
IUHKERBT 
I  don't  know  what  brought  you  here  to-day. 

,1ns.    (  LILLY 

Well,  I  wanted  to  -■  i   y  >u. 

.  LLLY 

You  could  conn-  to  see  me  when  I  was  settled  down. 

tIKS.    ( -HILLY 

ttled  in  the  cottage  the  Guardians  have  given  you? 

;;v 
Yes,  ma'am. 
UBS.  '  lilly  (vrith  nervous  excitement,  restrained) 
No  one  of  n^  will  i  ir  the  pla<  e. 

tfl  SKERRY 

Well,  you'll  pi  ase  yourself. 

URS.     <   LILLI 

You  ]>nl  a  slighl  on  u->  all  when  ymi  go  then-  to  live. 
tfUSKERBI 

Well.  I've  lived  with  you  to  my  own  1" 


210  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

-.    CRILLY 

Our  house  is  the  best  house  in  the  town,  and  I'm  I 
the  nearest  person  to  you. 

MUSKERRY 

Say  nothing  more  about  that. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Well,  maybe  you  do  right  not  to  live  with  us,  but 
you  ought  not  to  forsake  us  altogether. 

MUSKERRY 

And  what  do  you  mean  by  forsaking  you  altogether? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

When  you  leave  the  place  and  do  not  even  turn  your 
step  in  our  direction  it's  a  sign  to  all  who  want  to 
know  that  you  forsake  us  altogether. 

MUSKERRY 

What  do  you  want  me  to  do? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Come  up  to  Cross  Street  with  me,  have  dinner  and 
spend  the  night  with  us.  People  would  have  less 
to  talk  about  if  you  did  that. 

MUSKERRY 

You  always  have  a  scheme. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Come  to  us  for  this  evening  itself. 

MUSKERRY 

I  wish  you  wouldn't  trouble  me,  woman.  Can't  you 
see  that  when  I  go  out  of  this  I  want  to  go  to  my  own 
place? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

You  can  go  there  to-morrow. 

MUSKERRY 

Preparations  are  made  for  me. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  211 

IfRS.    CRILLY 

You  don't  know  what  preparations. 

HTJSKJ  RBI 

Two  pounds  of  the  best  beef-steak  were  ordered  to 
be  sent  up  to-day. 

KRS.    CRILLY 

I  wouldn't   trust  that  woman,  Mrs.  Clarke,  to  cook 

potatoes. 
tfUSKERRY 

Well,  I'll  trust  her,  ma'am, 
ims.  crilly  itakirig  Musketry's  sleeve) 

Don't  go  to-day,  anyway. 
Wl  SKERRY 

You're   very  anxious  to  get  me  to  come  with  you. 

What  do  you  want  from  me? 
UR8.    CRILLY 

We  want  nothing  from  you.  You  know  how  insecure 
our  business  i>.  When  it's  known  in  the  town  that 
you  forsake  us,  everybody  will  close  in  on  us. 

\\\  SKERRY 
God  knows  I  did  everything  that  a  man  could  do  for 
ymi  and  yours.     I  won't  forget  you.     I  haven't  much 
life  left  to  me,  and  1  want  to  live  to  myself. 

IIRS.  CRILL1 
I  know.  Sure  I  lie  awake  at  night,  too  tired  to  sleep, 
and  Long  to  get  away  from  the  things  that  are  pressing 
in  on  me.  1  know  that  people  arc  glad  of  their  own 
way,  and  glad  to  live  in  the  way  that  they  like.  When 
I  heard  the  birds  stirring  I  cried  to  be  away  in  some 
place  where  I  won't  hear  the  thing  that's  alwi 
knocking  at  my  head.  The  business  has  to  be  minded, 
and  it's  slipping  away  from  us  like  water.  And 
listen,  if  my  confinement  comes  on  me  and  I  worrie  1 


212  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

as  I  was  last  year,  nothing  can  save  me.     I'll  die, 
surely. 
muskerry  (moved) 

What  more  do  you  want  me  to  do? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Stay  with  us  for  a  while,  so  that  we'll  have  the  name 
of  your  support. 

MUSKERRY 

I'll  come  back  to  you  in  a  week. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

That  wouldn't  do  at  all.     There's  a  reason  for  wha 

I  ask.     The  town  must  know  that  you  are  with  u 

from  the  time  you  leave  this. 

muskerry  (with  emotion) 

God  help  me  with  you  all,  and  God  direct  me  what  to 
do. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

It's  not  in  you  to  let  us  down. 

\_Muskerry    turns    away.      His    head    is    bent.      Mrs. 

Crilly  goes  to  him. 

MUSKERRY 

Will  you  never  be  done  taking  from  me?  I  want  to 
leave  this  and  go  to  a  place  of  my  own. 
\_Muskerry  'puts  his  hand  to  his  eyes.  When  he  lowers 
his  hand  again  Mrs.  Crilly  lays  hers  in  it.  Christy 
Clarke  comes  in.  Muskerry  turns  to  him.  Muskerry 
has  been  crying. 

MUSKERRY 

Well,  Christy,  I'll  be  sending  you  back  on  another 

message. 

\_Mrs.  Crilly  makes  a  sign  to  Christy  not  to  speak. 

MUSKERRY 

Go  to  your  mother  and  tell  her  — 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  21S 

CHRISTY 

I  met  my  mother  outside. 

KUBKERRY 

Did  she  get  the  things  that  were  sent  to  her? 

CHRISTY 

My  mother  was  sent  away  from  the  cottage. 
IfUBKEKRY 

Who  sent  your  mother  away  from  the  cottage? 

CHRISTY 

Mrs.  Crilly  sent  her  away. 

IfUSKERRY 

And  why  did  you  do  that,  ma'am? 

KBS.    CRILLY 

I  sent  Mary  to  help  to  prepare  the  place  for  you,  and 
the  woman  was  impertinent  to  Mary  — 

MUSKERRY 

Well,  ma'am? 
MRS.    CRILLY 

I  sent  the  woman  away. 
IfUSKERRY 

And  so  you  take  it  on  yourself  to  dispose  of  the  ser- 
vants in  my  house? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I  daresay  you'll  take  the  woman's  part  against  my 
daughter. 

IfUSKERRY 

No,  ma'am.  I'll  take  no  one's  side,  but  I'll  tell  you 
thi>.  I  want  my  own  life,  and  I  won't  be  interfered 
with. 

MRS.    CHILLY 

I'm  sorry  for  what  occurred,  and  I'll  apologise  to  the 
boy's  mother  if  you  like. 


214  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

I  won't  be  interfered  with,  I  tell  you.  From  this  day 
out  I'm  free  of  my  own  life.  And  now,  Christy 
Clarke,  go  down  stairs  and  tell  the  Master,  Mr. 
Scollard,  that  I  want  to  see  him. 
[Christy  Clarke  goes  out. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I  may  as  well  tell  you  something  else.     None  of  the 
things  you  ordered  were  sent  up  to  the  cottage. 

MUSKERRY 

Do  you  tell  me  that? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I  went  round  to  the  shop,  and  everything  you  ordered 
was  sent  to  us. 

MUSKERRY 

And  what  is  the  meaning  of  that,  ma'am? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

If  the  town  knew  you  were  going  from  us,  in  a  week 
we  would  have  to  put  up  the  shutters. 

MUSKERRY 

Well,  I'll  walk  out  of  this,  and  when  I  come  to  the 
road  I'll  go  my  own  way. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

We  can't  prevent  you. 

MUSKERRY 

No,  ma'am,  you  can't  prevent  me. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

You've  got  your  discharge,  I  suppose? 

MUSKERRY 

I've  given  three  hours'  notice,  and  I'll  get  my  dis- 
charge now. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  215 

MRS.    I  ELTLL1    nt  COrridat  door) 

We  can't  prevent  you  going  if  you  have  the  doctor's 
dischar 
IfUSKERB! 

The  doctor's  discharge!     lie  would  have  given  it  to 
me  — 

MRS.    CHILLY 

You  can't  leave  without  the  doctor's  sanction. 

Ml -KERRY 

Out  of  this  house  I  will  go  to-day. 
[James  ScoUard  enters. 

SCOLLARD 

I  believe  you  want  to  see  me,  Mr.  Muskerry, 

MUSKERRY 

I  do,  Mr.  ScoUard.    I  am  leaving  the  house. 

SCOLLARD 

I  will  be  glad  to  take  up  the   necessary  formalities 
for  you,  Mr.  Muskerry. 

UBS.    <  RILLY 

First  of  all,  has  the  doctor  marked  my  father  off  the 
infirmary  list? 

SCOLLARD 

No,  Mrs.  Crilly.     Now  that  I  recall  the  list,  he  has 
not. 
Mi  SKERRY 

I  waited  after  Mass  to-day,  and  I  missed  seeing  him. 

MBS.    <  Kll.l-V 

My  father  was  seriously  ill   only  a  short  time  s 
and  I  do  Dot  believe  he  is  in  a  fit  state  to  leave  the 
infirmary. 

Sf<»I>LARD 

That  certainly  has  to  he  considered.     Without    the 
doctor  explicitly   -ending  you    down   to   the   body    of 


216 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


the  house  you  are  hardly  under  my  jurisdiction,  Mr. 
Muskerry. 

MUSKERRY 

Mr.  Scollard,  I  ask  you  to  give  me  leave  to  go  out  of 
the  Workhouse  for  a  day.  You  can  do  this  on  your 
own  responsibility. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

In  the  present  state  of  his  mind  it's  not  likely  he 
would  return  to-night.  Then  if  anything  happened 
him  your  situation  is  at  stake. 

MUSKERRY 

I'm  not  a  pauper.  I'll  go  out  of  this  to-day  without 
leave  or  license  from  any  of  you. 

SCOLLARD 

As  you  know  yourself,  Mr.  Muskerry,  it  would  be 
as  much  as  my  situation  is  worth  to  let  you  depart 
in  that  way. 

MUSKERRY 

Well,  go  I  will. 

SCOLLARD 

I  cannot  permit  it,  Mr.  Muskerry.  I  say  it  with 
the  greatest  respect. 

MUSKERRY 

How  long  will  you  keep  me  here? 

SCOLLARD 

Until  the  doctor  visits  the  house. 

MUSKERRY 

That  will  be  on  Monday  morning. 

SCOLLARD 

And  this  is  Saturday,  Mr.  Muskerry. 

MUSKERRY 

And  where  will  you  put  me  until  Monday? 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  217 

B  OLLARD 

Other  arrangements  will  be  made  for  you. 

Ml SKERRY 

It's  the  pauper's  bed  you  would  give  me! 

I  I.  VUD 

The  old  arrangements  will  continue.     Can  I  do  any- 
thing further  for  you,  Mr.  Muskerry? 
Ml  SKERRY 

No,  you  can  do  nothing  further  for  me.  It's  a 
great  deal  you  have  done  for  me!  It's  the  pau- 
per's bed  you  have  given  me!  (He  goes  into  the 
Select  Ward) 

MBS.  <  uii.i.v 

Sit  down,  Mr.  Seollard.     I  want  to  speak  to  you. 
[  J/r.v.  ( rilly  scats  herself  at  the  tabic.     Seollard  sits  down 
also. 

IfRS.    <  BILLY 

The  hank  manager  is  in  the  town  to-day,  and  there  are 
people  waiting  to  tell  him  whether  my  father  goes  to 
our  house  or  goes  away  from  us. 

BCOLLABD 

No  doubl  there  are,  Mrs.  Crilly. 
Mi;-,   i  RILLY 

Hut  you  have  nothing  to  do  with  that,  Mr.  Seollard. 

LLABD 

No,  Mrs.  Crilly. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

I  have  my  own  battle  to  fight,  and  a  hard  battle  it  is. 
I  have  to  make  hits  of  myself  to  mind  everything  and 
be  prepared  h>r  everything. 

BCOLLABD 

No  doubt,  Mr-.  Crilly. 


218  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 


MRS.    CRILLY 

There  are  people  who  will  blame  me,  but  they  cannot 
see  into  my  mind. 

SCOLLARD 

Will  you  come  down  to  the  parlour,  Mrs.  Crilly? 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Yes,  I'll  go  down. 

[She  remains   seated,   looking   out  steadily   before   her. 

Myles  Gorman  comes  in.    He  is  dressed  in  his  own 

clothes. 

SCOLLARD 

Well,  Gorman,  what  brings  you  back  to  the  ward? 

GORMAN 

I  just  want  to  do  something  to  my  pipes,  Master. 

SCOLLARD 

Very  well,  Gorman.     You  have  your  discharge,  and 
you  are  free  to  leave. 

GORMAN 

Oh,  in  a  while  I'll  be  taking  the  road. 

\JJe  seats  himself  at  the  fire  and  begins  to  fix  the  bag  of 

his  pipes. 

SCOLLARD 

Now,  Mrs.  Crilly,  come  down  to  the  parlour. 

MRS.    CRILLY 

Yes. 

SCOLLARD 

Anna  is  waiting  to  see  you. 
MRS.  crilly  (rising) 

He  will  be  well  cared  for  here. 

SCOLLARD 

He  will,  Mrs.  Crilly.    I  will  give  him  all  attention. 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  210 

IRS.    CBILLT 
He  expected   to  be  in  a  different  plaec  to-day,  but 
delay  does  little  harm. 

COLLAR D 

Come  down  to  the  parlour,  Mrs.  Crilly,  and  drink  a 

glass  of  wine  w  itli  n>. 

[They  go  out.  The  door  of  the  Select  Ward  opens,  and 
Thomas  Muskerry  appears.  He  has  got  a  stroke.  His 
breathing  makes  a  noise  in  his  mouth.  As  he  mores  he 
lags  somewhat  at  the  right  knee.  He  carries  his  right 
hand  at  his  breast.  He  mores  slowly  across  ward.  Felix 
Tournour  enters,  carrying  a  bunch  of  keys. 

OTTBNOT  B 

And  whore  are  you  going? 

i  skerry  (in  a  thickened  voice) 

Ow  —  out.  (Motioning  with  left  hand.  lie  moves 
across  ward,  and  goes  out  on  door  of  corridor) 

OXTRNOUR 
Well,  you're  not  getting  back  to  your  snuggery,  my 
oul'  eod.     (He  goes  into  the  Select  Ward  and  begins  to 
pitch  Musketry's  belongings  into  the  outer  ward.    First 
of  all  come  the   pillows   and  clothes  off  the   bed)      And 
there's  your  holy  picture,  and  there's  your  holy  book. 
(He  comes  out   holding  another  boot;  in  official  binding. 
He   ,>pens    it   and   reads)      "Marianne,    born    May    the 
20th,   1870.*'     (//c  turns  buck  some  pages  and  reads) 
Thomas  Muskerry  wrote  this,  I860 — 
"In  the  pleasanl   month  of  May, 
When  the  lambkins  spoil  and  play, 

As  I  roved  <>nt   for  recreation, 

I  spied  a  comely  maid. 
Sequestered  in  the  shade, 

And  on  her  beauty  I  gazed  in  admiration. 


220  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

"I  said  I  greatly  fear 

That  Mercury  will  draw  near, 

As  once  he  appeared  unto  Venus, 

Or  as  it  might  have  been 

To  the  Carthaginian  Queen, 

Or  the  Grecian  Wight  called  Polyphemus." 
[Muskerry  comes  back  to  the  ward.  He  stands  looking 
stupidly  at  the  heap  Tournour  has  thrown  out.  Tournour 
throws  down  the  book.  Muskerry  goes  towards  the  open 
door  of  the  ward.  Felix  Tournour  closes  the  door  delib- 
erately, turns  the  key  and  holds  the  key  in  his  hand. 

TOURNOUR 

You  have  no  more  to  do  with  your  snug  little  ward, 

Mr.  Muskerry.     {He  puts  the  key  on  his  bunch  and 

goes  out) 
muskerry  (muttering  with  slack  lips  and  cheeks) 

It's  —  it's  —  the  pau  —  pauper's   bed  they've  given 

me. 
gorman  (turning  round  his  face) 

Who's  there? 

MUSKERRY 

It's  —  it's  —  Thomas  Muskerry. 

GORMAN 

Is  that  the  Master? 

MUSKERRY 

It's  —  it's  the  pauper's  bed  they've  given  me. 

GORMAN 

Can  I  give  you  any  hand,  Master? 

MUSKERRY 

I'll  want  to  make  —  the  bed.  Give  me  a  hand  to 
make  the  bed.  (Gorman  comes  over  to  him)  My  own 
sheet  and  blanket  is  here.  I  needn't  lie  on  a  pauper's 
sheet.    Whose  bed  is  this? 


. 


THOMAS   MUSKERRY  221 

(  ORM  v\ 

It's  the  middle  bed,  Master.    It's  my  own  bed. 
mi  skerry  {helplessly) 

What  bed  will  I  lake,  then? 

(k>i:m  w 

My  bed.     I  won't  be  here. 
MUSKERRY 

Ami  when-  are  you  going? 

GORMAN 

I'm  leaving  the  house  this  day.  I'll  be  going  on  the 
roads. 

MUSKERRY 

Myles  —  Myles  Gorman.  The  man  that  was  without 
family  or  friends.  Myles  Gorman.  Help  me  to  lay 
down  the  mattress.  "Where  will  you  sleep  to-night, 
Myles  Gorman? 

GORMAN 

At    Mrs.   Mnirnan's,  a  house  between  this  and  the 
town  of  Ballinagh.     I  haven't  the  money  to  pay,  but 
she'll  give  me  the  place  for  to-night.     Now,  Master, 
I'll  spread  the  sheet  for  you. 
[They  spread  the  sheet  on  the  bed. 

MUSKERRY 

Can  y«>u  go  down  the  stairs,  Myles  Gorman?  I  tried 
to  get  down  the  stairs  and  my  legs  failed  me. 

iRMAN 

One  of  the  men  will  lead  me  down. 

mi  skerry  {retting  his  hand  on  the  bed  and  standing  up) 

Sun-  one  of  the  men  will  lead  me  down  the  stairs,  too. 
[Myles  (ionium  spreads  blanket  on  bed.  If>  stands  up, 
takes  pipes,  and  is  ready  t<>  go  out.  Musketry  becomes 
more  fable,    lie  puts  himself  on  the  bed. 


222  THOMAS  MUSKERRY 

MUSKERRY 

Myles  —  Myles  Gorman  —  come  back. 

GORMAN 

What  will  I  do  for  you,  Master? 

MUSKERRY 

Say  a  prayer  for  me. 

GORMAN 

What  prayer  will  I  say,  Master? 

MUSKERRY 

Say  "God  be  good  to  Thomas  Muskerry." 
gorman  (taking  off  his  hat) 

"God  be  good  to  Thomas  Muskerry,  the  man  who 
was  good  to  the  poor."    Is  that  all,  Master? 

MUSKERRY 

That's  —  that's  all. 
[Gorman  goes  to  the  door. 

GORMAN 

In  a  little  while  you'll  hear  my  pipes  on  the  road. 
[He  goes  out.  There  is  the  sound  of  heavy  breathing  from 
the  bed.  Then  silence.  The  old  pauper  with  the  staff 
enters.  He  is  crossing  the  ward  when  his  attention  is 
taken  by  the  humming  of  the  bees  at  the  window  pane. 
He  listens  for  a  moment. 

THE   OLD    PAUPER 

A  bright  day,  and  the  clay  on  their  faces.  That's 
what  I  saw.  And  we  used  to  be  coming  from  Mass 
and  going  to  the  coursing  match.  The  hare  flying 
and  the  dogs  stretching  after  her  up  the  hill.  Fine 
dogs  and  fine  men.  I  saw  them  all. 
[Christy  Clarke  comes  in.  He  goes  to  table  for  his  bag. 
He  sees  the  figure  on  the  bed,  and  goes  over. 

CHRISTY 

I'm  going  now,  Mister  Muskerry.    Mister  Muskerry! 


THOMAS  MUSKERRY  223 

Mister  Muskerry!  Oh!  the  Master  is  dead.  [He  run* 
hurl:  to  the  door)  Mrs.  Crilly.  Mrs.  Crilly.  (He  goes 
buck  to  the  bed,  and  throws  himself  on  his  knees)  Oh! 
I'm  sorry  you're  gone,  Thomas  Muskerry. 

THE    OLD    I'M  : 

Ami  is  he  gone  home,  too!  And  the  bees  humming 
and  all!  He  was  the  best  of  them.  Each  of  his 
brothers   could    lift    up    their   plough    and   carry    il    I  > 

the  other  side  of  the  held.    Four  of  them  could  dear  a 

fair.     But  their  fields  were  small  and  poor,  and  so  they 

scattered. 

[Mrs.  Crilly  comes  in. 

UBS.    CRILLY 

Christy  Clarke,  what  is  it? 
CHRISTY 

The  Master  is  dead. 

UBS.    'HILLY 

My  Cod,  my  God! 
CHRISTY 

Will  I  go  and  tell  them  below? 
UBS.    <  uiLLY 

Nb.     Bring  no  one  here  yet.     We  killed  him.     When 

everything  is  known  that  will  be  known. 

CHRISTY 

1*11  never  forget  him,  I  think. 
MBS.    (HILLY 

What   humming  is  that? 
CHBISTY 

Tin-  bees  at   the  window  pane.     And  there's  Myles 
Gorman's  pipes  on  the  mad. 
[TJie  clear  call  of  the  pipes  is  heard. 

END    OF    PLAY 


"Thomas  Muskeny"  was  first  produced  on  May  5th, 
910,  by  the  Abbey  Theater  Company,  at  the  Abbey 
"heater,  Dublin,  with  the  following  cast:  — 

Thomas  Muskehry Arthur  Sinclair 

Mrs.  Crilly Sara  Allgood 

Crofton  Crilly J.  M.  Kerrigan 

Albert  Crilly Eric  Gorman 

Anna  (hilly Maire  O'Neill 

Myles   (iiiKM.w Fred  O'Donovan 

Felix    Touknoub Sydney  Morgan 

James  Scollard J.  A.  O'Rourke 

Christy  Clarke U.  Wright 

Mickie  Cripes Fred  Rowland 

Tom  Shanley Ambrose  Power 

An  Old  Pauper J.  M.  Kerrigan 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

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